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Three weeks before the Olympic trials, Jinyoung literally and figuratively hits a wall.
“That was your worst time in a long time,” Taecyeon shakes his head, noting the number down on the clipboard he always carries. “What happened?”
Jinyoung shakes his own head to clear the ringing from his ears. Somehow he’d completely misjudged how far he was from the end, and careened headfirst into the swimming pool wall. This has never happened before, not to him nor any other professional swimmer he has ever spoken to. Already the water is beginning to settle around him, less disturbed by the ferocity of his heartbeat than he is. Maybe this happens to other swimmers, feeling like water is something to fight against, but not to him. Not until now.
Taecyeon is still talking, but Jinyoung lets himself slip underwater. Beneath furious waves lie still waters, but Jinyoung still hears the ringing in his ears as he sinks to the bottom of the pool. Beyond him, the pool stretches on into a cerulean blue infinity. Everything feels disconnected, like he’s in a suspended block of water cut and pasted into space. Something keeps nagging at the back of his brain, like he’s forgotten something that should be remembered.
“I don’t understand,” he says. The water does not reply.
He looks up at the silver bubbles rising to the surface, at the distorted oblongs of grey sky beyond the water surface, at the rippling, annoyed shadow of Taecyeon looming over the pool, and closes his eyes.
The truth is, Jinyoung has never really cared about swimming.
Not in the way that other swimmers care about winning tournaments and breaking their records and making sure their technique is perfect. Jinyoung has only ever cared about one thing and it is this: to be in the water, to feel it mould around him and hold him steady, to know that he can surrender everything to it and still be accepted. Winning tournaments, breaking records, making it on to the national swim team… those were just things that were supposed to come naturally after that.
Or so it used to be.
“Go home and have a rest,” Taecyeon says tersely when he emerges from the shower, damp haired and no less confused. His expression softens a little when Jinyoung subconsciously rubs the throbbing spot on his head. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head?”
Jinyoung shakes his head and mumbles something like Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it. It’s only natural; he’s Taecyeon’s star athlete and slated to top the leaderboards in the upcoming trials. Concern for reputation can also be disguised as concern for wellbeing. Pushing past Taecyeon, he hoists his gym back further up his shoulder and steps out into the dreary spring evening.
“Make sure you rest!” Taecyeon yells after him.
As always, Jinyoung lifts his hand in reply, promising nothing.
Seven days. “Your form is completely off,” Taecyeon comments when Jinyoung wrenches off his goggles and slams it back into the water with frustration. He doesn’t have to look at the time to know that things are not going well. He can feel it in the way the water beats against him, in the way his heart hammers against his ribs. Drawing breath feels more like a battle than something you are born knowing. Taecyeon squats down by the dive block. “You’ve been out of it all week. Seriously, what’s going on?”
Something like helplessness rises in Jinyoung’s chest because it’s only a feeling he has, not something he can even begin to try putting into words. “Everything’s fine,” he growls instead, cutting it off at the source. “Let’s keep going.” He hauls himself out of the pool and snaps his goggles back on to his head.
As he stands on the dive block, looking out at the other swimmers of his university team racing up and down the other lanes, watching droplets of water fly in glinting arches through the air, he can’t help but feel a biting, bristling irritation prickling over his skin. He has the distinct impression of standing on the edge of a pool with someone racing towards him, gearing up for the handover, anticipation keeping him on his toes. ”Go Jinyoung!”
He hates it.
Five years. He shakes his head to clear it. All he wants right now is some peace. He gets into position, and dives in at Taecyeon’s whistle. For a second everything feels like it might be alright after all. He keeps his eyes glued to the tips of his fingers, feeling himself cutting through the water with his usual ease. He surfaces, lifts his arm for the first stroke, and feels everything shift out of place again. The waves from the other swimmers beat at him, rocking him into a motion he can’t control, and his legs are dead weight behind him. As he turns, he tries to concentrate on the strokes of his arms, but it’s like swimming through sludge.
When it’s all over he hangs on to the pool edge, trying to catch his breath, heartbeat thudding in his ears, dimly aware of the body leaping off the block above his head and diving smoothly into the water behind him. He doesn’t even notice the others anymore; all he wants to do is sink under the waves.
“Come on Jinyoung, get up,” Taecyeon frowns. “Jongin’s making the turn.”
Jinyoung pulls himself up, raining water all over the floor. He doesn’t bother watching the others, doesn’t join in the cheers of encouragement. This is why he prefers training in the afternoons, when everyone else is in the gym. It doesn’t matter that he’s been training with these people for the past two years - he learned a long time ago that the only person he’s competing against when he gets into the water is himself.
Only him, alone.
Look what I found!, says his mother’s message, when he gets out of class. It was hidden away in a book, she adds, like she’s asking for an explanation. Jinyoung doesn’t really have to look at the faded photo to know what she’s talking about - five years ago he’d shoved it between the yellowed pages of a book no one ever read anymore.
Haha, he texts back. Look how scrawny I was. He doesn’t really want to look at the four 10 year old boys in the photo, arms slung around each other, all of them holding up the gold medals hung around their necks, their smiles bright against their tanned skin and the sun streaming around them.
Taecyeon had cornered him in the locker room while he towelled his hair dry. “You know, it’s cool if you don’t want to talk to me,” Taecyeon had said, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers while Jinyoung shook droplets on to the floor. “I know what you’re like. But there must be someone else out there - other swimmers - that you can talk to. Even just a friend is fine. Slumps can’t be worked through alone, Jinyoung.”
Jinyoung had slammed his locker door shut. A slump. Somehow the thought had never crossed his mind before. Slumps were terms used by high achievers, by people who actually aimed for the top. Maybe Jinyoung had been one of those people before. Now the only thing that keeps him swimming is the water, except now it’s rejecting him too.
You were all so cute. What are they doing now? his mother replies. Are they still swimming?
Jinyoung looks up at the sky. Sunset is still some ways away, but a crescent moon hangs faintly in the distance, mocking him with its tilted smile. Even just a friend is fine. Names that he’d once tried so hard to forget are crowding his mind, shoving his other thoughts aside like particularly insistent fans at a concert.
“Olympic trial lineup is out,” Taecyeon had announced two weeks before, waving his iPad at them. “Listen up.” Jinyoung had only listened with one ear while he read out all the lists, already knowing that he was on there, but a name dropped out of nowhere caught his attention. “Men’s 400m individual medley: 1st seed, Kim Jongin. 2nd seed, Kim Wonpil.”
An icy wave had shivered through him, from the top of his head down to his fingers, like someone was trickling cold water over him. He held his breath as Taecyeon continued down the list. The other names were a blur; he didn’t care about the rest. He listened wth a mixture of dread and disbelief swirling in his chest. “Men’s 200m backstroke: 1st seed, Kim Wonpil. Men’s 100m breaststroke... 3rd seed, Jackson Wang. Men’s 200m breaststroke: 1st seed, Jackson Wang. Men’s 100m butterfly: 1st seed, Im Jaebum. Men’s 100m freestyle,” here Taecyeon had looked over at him. “1st seed, Park Jinyoung. 2nd seed, Im Jaebum. 3rd seed...”
Jackson, with his penchant for getting them all into trouble with him. Wonpil, quiet but determined, keen eyes always trained on Jinyoung, waiting for the chance to step out of his shadow. And Jaebum, the only person Jinyoung ever met who could stand toe to toe with him. Jinyoung had felt the ground shudder beneath him, like it was giving way, though he kept nothing from showing on his face. Was it then that everything fell apart?
What are they doing now? Are they still swimming? Jinyoung knows the answers now; they have haunted him for the past two weeks, clinging to his shoulders like a shroud he can’t shake off. He clicks his phone screen off, gritting his teeth. Just like five years ago, he steels himself, clamps a tight lid down over his feelings, and walks away.
Sitting in the dingy little neighbourhood bar on his way home, Jinyoung replays Taecyeon’s words over and over in his head. There must be someone you can talk to. He stifles a smirk and takes a long drag of beer. He hasn’t bothered making friends for years. Bridges had been burned and civilisations had fallen and he doesn’t have the energy to rebuild anything out of the rubble.
His thoughts turn to the heavy way his limbs thrashed through the water, how it seemed to be pulling him back no matter how hard he kicked his legs. He’s had moments like this before, moments where he doesn’t feel totally in sync, but the water resisting him? Unheard of. He sighs.
“Bad day?” the bartender asks. “Looks like you might be needing something stronger.” Jinyoung swirls the beer in its glass and drains it.
“Something weird’s been happening to me,” he says, staring down at his empty glass and toying with it. “I feel like the universe is telling me to give up.”
“We all have days like that,” the bartender replies sympathetically. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. “But the water doesn’t care if you win or lose. The water doesn’t resist you. You’re the one who’s resisting the water.” Jinyoung stops toying with the glass and puts it down carefully before looking up for the first time since entering the bar.
It’s uncanny, really. The bartender smiles at him, deftly drying glasses, but the world has detached around Jinyoung. He watches the bartender’s hand swirling the ragged cloth around in the glass, and knows the droplets inside are being picked up two seconds earlier. Time has fractured into disconnected pieces. The bartender has Jackson’s face.
“Jackson?” Jinyoung breathes.
Jackson – or the guy who looks like Jackson – frowns. “Sorry, you might be mistaking me for someone else. But hang on a second and I’ll get you something stronger. It’s on me - I’ve been experimenting.” He grins and turns to serve the customer a few seats away. Jinyoung watches him as he moves. The straight back, the deliberate way his hands move, the cheeky, mischievous smile, the eyes that sparkle with amusement at the most mundane things – it’s Jackson alright. And yet something keeps nagging at him that it isn’t. Not quite.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you,” Jinyoung blurts out when Not-Jackson returns with a shot glass full of amber liquid. “Where have you been?” The noise in the bar suddenly dies down to silence, and every head in the room turns to look at him.
Not-Jackson just smiles. “Try it.” He nudges the glass closer to Jinyoung’s hand. “My shift ends in 3 minutes. There’s something I want to show you.”
Jinyoung tries to remember the last time he saw Jackson’s name grace his phone screen and finds he can’t. A dozen eyes are boring through him. “Ah, what the hell,” he declares, taking the glass. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.” He downs it in one gulp. The heads turn away, and the casual chatter returns.
Not-Jackson looks satisfied. “Sorry, Jinyoung,” he says, and takes the glass away. Jinyoung swears he sees an air bubble escape from his mouth as he speaks, and watches it travel upwards to the ceiling, flashing silver and dull yellow in the dim lighting, where it disappears.
The truth is, Jinyoung lost his reason for swimming a long, long time ago.
Not-Jackson walks silently beside him for a few blocks before suddenly steering him into a dark alleyway. For a second they stand there looking at each other in the dark, and Not-Jackson reaches into his jacket pocket. Jinyoung sees the billow of his clothes with each movement, like they’re being swayed by a gentle current, and Not-Jackson pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
“I didn’t know you smoked now,” Jinyoung says, but he isn’t entirely surprised.
“Times change,” Not-Jackson shrugs, then grins. “Want one?” Jinyoung shrugs too, and holds out his hand. Not-Jackson taps the open pack into his palm, and a few M&Ms tumble out. He laughs. “They’re not healthy, but you know, sometimes you just want a quick fix.”
Jinyoung throws the M&Ms into his mouth and looks around. “What am I doing here?” he asks. Above him the sightless moon rises in a sky dyed with ink. If he looks carefully he can see it rippling slightly at the edges. There isn’t a soul on the street, just him and Not-Jackson striding through a silent world. Every time Jinyoung speaks, silver bubbles erupt from his mouth and rise towards the heavens.
Not-Jackson taps on the wall behind Jinyoung’s head. “You lost something a long, long time ago. It’s not too late to get it back.” He points at the door that wasn’t there 10 seconds ago. “This is as far as I can take you. The rest is up to you.”
“Wait,” Jinyoung catches him on the arm before he can leave. “Tell me where you’ve been. Tell me everything.”
Not-Jackson’s smile is like a sunburst. It calls forth a long-forgotten memory of four boys sitting by the side of a sparkling swimming pool on a hot summer’s day, their faces blurred. Jinyoung can feel laughter pulsing through the air, the sticky juice of an ice lolly dripping on to his chest. “It’s not my story to tell.” He pushes Jinyoung through the door and shuts it.
When Jinyoung jumped into the pool, 7 months and twenty days after the breakup of the swim team that had been the best part of his life for five years, all he felt was silence. He’d kept his eyes closed, trying to acclimatise himself to the muffled mask over his ears, to the bubbles flitting up his skin back to freedom, and found that he never wanted to open them again.
“I always hated swimming with you,” disembodied voices whispered through the water. “We’ve never been friends.” “Sorry, Jinyoung.”
He had opened his eyes to an endless silence and the still depths of blue water. That day he learned that true loneliness existed at the bottom of an empty swimming pool.
The path to middle school from his house had run along a large sunflower field. On days when Jinyoung wasn’t running late, he’d used to keep an eye on those flowers as he cycled along, marvelling at their large black and yellow faces turned towards the sun like it was a blessing. Jackson had jumped straight into the field and broken a flower off once, and they’d all scattered in different directions when the farmer caught him walking home with it strapped to his head.
“Took you long enough,” says a voice when the door closes behind him. The room is filled from wall to wall with sunflowers, but while four walls loom over him, it isn’t really a room. A blazing summer sun hangs overhead, and Jinyoung shields his eyes. “This way,” the voice calls. He sees a rustling amongst the flowers in front of him, and a hand appears through them, pointing somewhere up ahead. He follows the finger to the ladder hanging down one side of the wall, and recognises the blue of the tiles. He’s in a swimming pool.
“Hurry up!” calls the voice, sharper and more impatient, and he sees a figure climb the ladder and disappear over the side. He begins wading through the sea of sunflowers, but it’s too dense and he can’t keep up.
“Hey, wait up!” he yells, but no one replies. Fighting through the leaves and petals clinging to him, he makes it to the ladder and hauls himself upwards. The figure from before is standing with his back to him, facing the giant tree growing beside the chain link fence that surrounds the pool facility. Its branches are bare, lonely in the sunlight. “I thought you were supposed to be my guide,” Jinyoung says drily, marching up to him.
“I always hated swimming with you,” the person says in a soft voice. Jinyoung stops in his tracks. The person turns, and just like in all his nightmares, it’s a lean young man with high cheekbones, eyebrows harsh in an otherwise amiable face. He regards Jinyoung with a look that seems neither cool nor amused, his eyes somewhat deadened.
“Wonpil,” Jinyoung begins. “I didn’t –”
“I’m not Wonpil,” the person says shortly. Jinyoung notices that the silver bubbles are no longer rising from them when they talk. “Come look at this.”
Jinyoung stands beside him, looking down at the base of the tree trunk. “I heard you’re behaving like a failure,” says Wonpil nonchalantly, crouching down and gently plucking weeds from the dirt.
“I’m not a failure,” Jinyoung says, annoyance prickling over his skin. He watches Wonpil’s fingers deftly plucking weeds and arranging them in a neat row on the ground and feels the seeds of resentment growing in his own chest. “I’m not the one who walked away from everyone. That was you.”
“I already told you,” Wonpil says calmly. “I’m not Wonpil. Look here.” He points at the base of the trunk, now clear of weeds. Jinyoung can see the faint scratches in the bark, too worn by time to make out clearly, but enough to bring a hidden memory, waterlogged and blurry, to the surface of his mind.
“Have you ever sunk to the bottom of a pool before?” Not-Wonpil asks him. Jinyoung remembers that first plunge into the water after Wonpil turned his back on him and Jackson followed, and feels the resentment in his chest burst into flower.
“Did you always hate me?” he asks instead, watching four boys with damp hair carving words into the tree trunk. Two of them have blurred faces – the only clear ones are Wonpil and Jackson’s. School backpacks sit where they were thrown haphazardly against the chain link fence, and a light breeze ruffles his hair. Laughter rings through the air, and he’s watching it all like he’s standing across the pool, separated from them by an expanse of water.
“You can’t hate someone you love,” Not-Wonpil replies, straightening up and turning to him. “Likewise you can’t love someone you want to surpass. You’ll dream of old memories, but you have to let new ones grow. You’ll know when you’re ready.”
“You’re not making sense,” Jinyoung frowns.
Not-Wonpil steps into him and he steps back instinctively. They walk silently – Wonpil forwards, Jinyoung backwards, strangely in sync – to the edge of the swimming pool. The sunflowers have disappeared, leaving behind a pool that looks as though it’s stood empty for years, weeds sprouting in the cracks between the tiles and dead leaves gathering on the floor like sad remnants of a past long gone. Wonpil reaches up and places his hands over Jinyoung’s eyes. Jinyoung feels his breath hovering somewhere near his ear, and he has to keep the shiver from creeping up his spine.
“Have you ever sunk to the bottom of a pool before?” Wonpil’s voice whispers into his ear. Jinyoung gets the impression of the rush of jumping into water hand in hand with this boy, of his wide smile and eyes pinched shut with glee. “You don’t know silence until you have. When you’re sitting there, and the sun streams through the surface of the water, and people are passing you by and you know what it sounds like every time they take a breath, or what their feet sound like with each kick, but you can’t hear a thing. It’s just you and the water. The water doesn’t care if you move or sit still, it’ll surround you all the same. Remember that.” And he pushes Jinyoung backwards into the empty pool.
He lands with a great splash into cerulean water. For a second he stays afloat, feeling his heartbeat drumming through his body, and then Jinyoung closes his eyes and lets himself sink.
“Hey, you’re not going to just give up like this are you?” asks a voice somewhere above him. Jinyoung opens his eyes. He’s floating on the surface of the water. Above him a great moon hangs, a thin, ghostly smile in the midnight sky. A smattering of stars dot the inky darkness, and the person sitting on the pool edge is looking down at him.
“It never made any sense to me anyway,” Jinyoung replies flatly. “Not after you left.”
He has an obstinate jaw, more defined than the teenage version of him Jinyoung remembers, and he doesn’t look as easygoing as he used to. But Jinyoung would never forget how this person used to be his whole world, until the day he wasn’t. Who said it first, those damning words: We’ve never been friends? Who decided that their worth depended on whether they were a better swimmer? Him or Jaebum?
Jaebum blinks. “Gold medals and swim scholarships? Training under the most coveted coach in all of South Korea? Did it really mean nothing to you?”
“You know it didn’t.”
“Then what did?”
Jinyoung falls silent, clutching the edge of the pool as he and Jaebum look at each other. “You did,” he says quietly. “I used to think it was the water that mattered most, but it was really you. You and Wonpil and Jackson and all the times we swam together.”
“I’m not –”
“Don’t tell me you’re not Jaebum,” Jinyoung says fiercely. “I don’t care if you are or if you aren’t. You look like him, you sound like him, and you know too much about me to not be him. So just shut up and let me pretend for a minute longer that you’re actually here.”
Jaebum laughs. He gets up, pulls off his jacket, and dives into the water in one practiced, graceful swoop. Jinyoung watches his body curve through the air, a familiar, long forgotten awe stirring in his chest. Jaebum pops up beside him, hair slick and shining silver under the moonlight, and takes Jinyoung’s hand. “I was never gone,” he says, and pulls Jinyoung under the waves.
Under the water is silent, still. Like in so many of his dreams, his nightmares, his waking hours, Jinyoung lets himself sink to the bottom. It took some time but he got used to it, being alone underwater. He got used to being alone in a pool full of people, to jump in and know that no one was waiting there for him. And for a while it had worked out. He’d done everything perfectly – swim scholarship, gold medals, broken records. Why was it that now it just wasn’t enough?
Sometimes he wonders if he was the one forgetting Jackson, Wonpil and Jaebum or if they forgot him instead.
Something touches his shoulder and he opens his eyes. For a second he sees no one, same as always, then Jaebum smiles back at him, hair waving around his head in a dark halo. In the dark of the night, the bubbles around them look like the stars in the sky.
“You know, for someone who specializes in freestyle you’re not very free,” Jaebum tells him easily, as clear as if he was speaking above water. In his eyes, Jinyoung sees oceans. “You used to be the only one of us who worried least about swimming. It used to be so easy for you. Now you’re letting your memories drag you down.”
“Whose fault is that?” Jinyoung almost snaps. He looks down, and the swimming pool walls and floor fold into themselves, leaving them suspended in a blue-tinged void, the moon rippling above them. “I thought we were best friends. Why did you say we weren’t? Why did you stop replying to my letters? Why...” he falters. He is standing in the pool they used to swim in as children, chest heaving, defeat brimming in his eyes, and Jaebum is leaving wet footprints on the floor as he walks away. What made him say those damning words We’ve never been friends? Why did he decide that his worth depended on whether he was a better swimmer than Jaebum?
He grits his teeth, like he’s fifteen again and his self-worth is crumbling at his feet. “Why did you leave me behind?”
“That’s not for me to answer,” Jaebum replies. “You know, you’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.” He swims closer to Jinyoung, t-shirt billowing around him. “Don’t take too long. We’re all waiting for you.”
Jinyoung hesitates as the water ripples around him. “How do I know where to find you?”
Jaebum smiles and taps a finger to his chest. “You’ll know. You’ve always known. See you around, Jinyoung.”
He falls into a bed of blue flowers, watching them explode around him from the force of his impact, though he feels nothing. He’s surrounded by darkness, and as he floats there he notices the petals aren’t falling back around him. They’re a soft blue and purple, the colour of the jacaranda that lines the walkway up to the swim center, and they glow in the infinite.
“I know what the bottom of a pool feels like,” he says to no one, and watches his words rise up the surface in a stream of silver bubbles. “But I don’t love it anymore. I don’t remember what it’s like to love it.” He reaches up to touch the bubbles, but a weight clings to his arm, pushing him back. A faint glow of light sparks above him, and he squints in the darkness.
A boy swims down towards him, his young face bright and knowing. He reaches a hand out to Jinyoung as he comes closer, and Jinyoung holds his own out instinctively. As the boy closes in and takes his hand, he finds he doesn’t want to let go.
“You lost something important,” the boy says, voice high and childish. His face is shadowed by the light directly above him. “It doesn’t mean you lost everything.”
“I don’t even know what’s important to me anymore,” Jinyoung replies.
The boy swims closer. “It’ll come back to you,” he says confidently, eyes shining, like he thinks Jinyoung has already found it. “Things that you lose always turn up when you least expect them.” He pulls Jinyoung close, and puts his arms around his neck.
“When I’m at the bottom of the pool, there’s no one but me,” he says softly into Jinyoung’s ear. “It’s just me, the water, and blue, blue for miles and miles, as far as your eye can see. For a minute, maybe two, I’m completely alone. I don’t feel anything. I don’t hear anything. But I’m not alone. I’m not in a void. I hold out my hand, and the water is there. It’s only me, and the water. I don’t think there’s anything on earth as peaceful as the bottom of a swimming pool.” Then he pushes away.
“Wait!” Jinyoung struggles against the black water, but he’s already sinking, pulled backwards by an invisible force. The light shifts again, and the boy is smiling. He has Jinyoung’s ten year old face, untouched by the darkness around him. Jinyoung reaches out to him, kicking with all his strength, but he’s being pushed and pulled in different directions and he falls, tumbling and gasping through the air.
He opens his eyes to sunlight streaming in his face. His phone is ringing insistently in his jacket pocket, and stops as soon as he becomes aware of it. He shields his eyes, squinting in the bright light, and looks up at the branches of a great tree waving above him, green leaves fluttering in the breeze. The ground beneath him is hard and rough under his fingers. His bones ache. He blinks.
Sitting up, he slowly takes in the chain link fence that surrounds the perimeter, then the tree that stands beside the fence. In the middle of the paved concrete floor, the surface of the swimming pool glints in the light.
He can’t decide if this is still a dream, because how the hell did he end up waking up in his hometown, beside his elementary school swimming pool? He can still feel Jaebum’s finger tapping into his chest when he drags himself to his feet and stumbles over to the base of the tree, like he’s in a trance. There’s something he has to make sure of.
Then: “Hey!”
He swivels around. A young boy stands looking at him from the stairs. His skinny brown arms and legs are splayed out, a towel and swimming cap clutched in one hand and his goggles in the other. He regards Jinyoung with a suspicious stare. “What are you doing here?”
“Uhh,” Jinyoung falters as the boy advances on him. He pushes a hand through his hair and it comes away damp, like he really had just fallen out of a watery void not too long ago.
“This pool is for students only,” the boy declares, eyes narrowing. He has a missing tooth. “Adults aren’t allowed to be here, except for Coach. Unless you’re our new weekend coach?” He stops in front of Jinyoung, and peers up into his face. Then his mouth drops open. “You’re Park Jinyoung!” the boy gasps, dropping his goggles in shock. It lands on the ground with a sharp thwack. He takes no notice.
“You know me?” Jinyoung asks in disbelief.
“Of course!” the boy says excitedly. “Your team’s picture is up in our clubroom. You guys won our school’s first gold in swimming! All of us in the swim club know you!” He looks up at Jinyoung with shining eyes, and then glances at the plum blossom beside them. “Did you come to see the tree too?”
Jinyoung can’t decide if he’s still dreaming or not. He can’t recognise anything remotely familiar in this kid, except maybe in the turquoise of his swimming cap. He’d worn the same one too, many years ago. “Someone else came to see it?” he asks.
“Oh yeah!” The boy walks towards it, trailing his towel on the ground, and Jinyoung follows. “They came together, actually. It was during after school training and Coach knows them so he let them in. They were looking at this tree too, and then Coach challenged them to a race. It was so cool! I’ve never seen anyone swim that fast before. And now you’re here!”
“Who are they?” Jinyoung squats down by the base of the tree, hardly daring to hope.
“Kim Wonpil and Im Jaebum,” the boy bends over beside him, hands on his knees. Jinyoung lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “And it was only last week too! You should’ve come with them, since Coach Wang won’t be able to make it this weekend. They told us so many stories about you… I wish I could’ve seen you swim.”
Jinyoung parts the neat row of tiny bushes, and there it is. The jagged, wonky letters are faded, though less than he imagined them to be, but he doesn’t really need to read it properly to know what it says: Together, the world! And underneath: JB WP JY JS
“We never understood what that meant,” the boy frowns, still bending over Jinyoung. “Wonpil and Jaebum and Coach Wang are gonna be competing in the Olympic trials, you know. I’m pretty sure they’ll make it,” he adds confidently. “You’re gonna go with them, right?”
Jinyoung turns to him instead, grinning. Something like relief is brimming in his chest, filling him with light. Together, the world. “Hey, what’s your favourite stroke?”
The boy chews on his lip. “Coach makes us try everything. But,” his face lights up into an excited smile. “I love freestyle the most!”
“Good.” Jinyoung stands up and brushes the dirt from his knees. “Make sure you don’t blink.” The boy looks like he might burst from excitement. Jinyoung walks back to the top of the pool, kicks his shoes off and strips off his clothes.
“You wear your swimsuit under your clothes?” the boy asks incredulously.
“Always be prepared,” Jinyoung tells him, and winks. “Wow…” the boy says faintly, seating himself on a dive block. Jinyoung steps up on the one beside it, looking out over the water, feeling the sun beating at his shoulders and a fresh spring breeze lifting the ends of his hair. He lifts his face to the sky, to the swaying branches of the plum blossom tree, and takes a deep breath.
Then he closes his eyes, and dives right in.
The shock of the cold water over his skin jolts him. When the rush in his ears subsides, he looks up to see the pool stretching out before him, miles and miles. It’s only me and the water. Sunlight falls in shafts through the water, bouncing off his outstretched arms. There is only silence. The thump of his heartbeat in his body. Every time he turns his head for breath, he catches a glimpse of the brilliant blue sky overhead.
He feels free.
On the day of the Olympic trials, Jinyoung finds himself oddly calm. He’s been consistently beating the qualifying time in the last couple of days and his body feels in top condition. Still, there’s a nervous buzz running through him when he enters the arena, scanning the faces of the swimmers he passes.
“Looking for someone?” Taecyeon asks.
“Not particularly,” Jinyoung shrugs, but he keeps looking all the same.
“Don’t work yourself up too much,” Taecyeon warns him. “You don’t want to get all tense. Go sit down and relax for a bit, alright?”
Jinyoung makes for a vending machine and gets a bottle of water. He slumps down on one of the benches beside the pool and is just cracking the bottle open when two guys walking past catch his eye. They’re chatting eagerly, like old friends, when the shorter one turns his head and looks Jinyoung full in the face. His expression lights up, and Taecyeon takes the opportunity to round the corner.
“God there you are! I thought I said sit down, not get lost,” he groans. “Start warming up, your race is starting soon.”
Jinyoung casts a yearning glance back at Jackson and Wonpil, but stands up anyway. Jackson is grinning. Wonpil's expression is neither warm nor cool, but nods at Jinyoung when he catches his eye. Jinyoung nods back, and they share a knowing smile. Taecyeon looks back at the direction he was looking at. “Jackson Wang and Kim Wonpil? Aren’t they backstroke and IM?” he asks as they walk down the corridor. “I didn’t know you knew them.”
“We’ve got history,” Jinyoung replies, and tries to mask a smile.
“Tell me about it later,” Taecyeon suggests. He glances at Jinyoung, a satisfied expression on his face. “You know, it’s nice to see you finally making friends. Maybe that trip back to your hometown really did help you out.”
Jinyoung looks back at him and grins, bright and unburdened. “You have no idea,” he says.
Later, when he steps out on the poolside and stares up at the scoreboard, at his name Park Jinyoung, Lane 4 and under it Im Jaebum, Lane 5, he can’t really be sure if he’s back in reality or still clinging to the vestiges of a dream. Above him the sun streams through the windows that line the top of the pool building. The water, pristine and sparkling, calls to him. He gets into line. He doesn’t have to turn around to know Jaebum is standing behind him, but he does anyway.
Jaebum looks both older and hardly changed. His shoulders are broader, his build powerful. His eyes crinkle into a blinding smile. “Hey, Jinyoung. Long time no see.” He holds out his hand.
Jinyoung takes it, feeling the rush of a midnight dream pool washing over his skin. “Jaebum.”
“I’m glad you didn’t give up back then,” Jaebum says, a knowing glint in his eye. Jinyoung can only stare at him in silence, seeing past, present and future colliding like waves in Jaebum's eyes, before a whistle blows and they go to stand at their respective lanes.
Jinyoung strips off, shaking out his arms and hopping on the spot to warm his body up a little. He adjusts his swimming cap. Looking up at the spectators dotted around the seats, he spies Taecyeon leaning forward anxiously in his seat. A little further down, Jackson and Wonpil are leaning against the handrail. Jackson calls out something when he spots Jinyoung looking, and flashes a thumbs up. Wonpil manages a small wave. A smile forces its way out of Jinyoung, and he puts his goggles on. Beside him, Jaebum waves back.
Right before they step up to the block, Jaebum turns to him. “Don’t lose to me again,” he says.
Jinyoung has no intention of doing that. “Make sure you keep up,” he shoots back, and grins.
Jaebum scoffs, but he’s smiling too. “Don’t take too long,” he turns away as they step up to the block. “We’re all waiting for you.”
They take their positions. Jinyoung is aware of every single breath coursing through his body. He keeps his eyes fixed on the reflection of the sky through the windows, wavering and sliding along the surface of the water. It’s just him and the water.
Take your marks.
The whistle sounds. He dives in.