Chapter Text
July 1st, 2015.
Six hours into his shift, Shane decided there were only so many ways a person could look wet.
Wet hair plastered to foreheads. Wet towels dragged across concrete. Wet kids shrieking as if the water were lava instead of a pool. Adults weren’t much better, they just complained more quietly.
Shane sat in his lifeguard chair, legs dangling, skin permanently smelling like chlorine, and wondered how something so repetitive could still be so exhausting.
Shane was the only one rostered for outside monitoring which he didn’t get because there were way too many people outside for one singular man to look after. Not saying that he wasn’t qualified as a lifeguard, but considering the way the beams of sun gave him a stellar sunburn and the fact that it was summer break, he thought management had a little too much faith in his capabilities.
He was recommended by a family friend. Shane’s mother had her way of forcing him into opportunities that would brighten his horizon as she’d like to say. Shane didn’t see how working as a lifeguard would bolster his opportunities as an architecture major. However, he didn’t mind the idea of getting extra cash to throw towards his student debt in the future, so he happily took the offer.
On Shane’s first day at the pool, he was handed a single sheet of paper with RULES AND REGULATIONS stamped across the top in bold, unforgiving letters. It smelled faintly of toner and chlorine, like it had been printed years ago and reused ever since.
Most of it was expected like the CPR procedures, emergency protocols, a diagram of the pool depths that Shane skimmed rather than studied. He’d passed the required certifications weeks earlier and that seemed to be good enough for management. No one asked how long it had been since he’d last taken a class, or whether he’d ever actually had to pull someone out of the water.
The schedule was printed on the back.
It was fortnightly, updated every other week, and entirely on paper. Some days were blocked out with birthdays or school trips, highlighted in an obnoxious orange that practically screamed for attention. Shane made a mental note to watch those days more carefully. However, most of the calendar was blank. Long stretches of empty boxes that made the place feel bigger and quieter than it probably ever was.
Except Wednesdays.
Wednesdays had two blocks highlighted in yellow. One in the morning and one in the afternoon, both labelled in glittery black gel pen as Ilya’s Lessons. The handwriting didn’t match the rest of the sheet, which made Shane linger on it longer than he meant to before folding the paper and shoving it into his bag.
Wiebe, the pool manager, took him on a tour of the aquatic centre shortly after. He spoke quickly, gesturing broadly as he moved, as if sheer enthusiasm might compensate for the building’s age. He made a point of showing off the cafeteria, its size, its menu, the fact that it existed at all, before steering Shane toward the pools.
The outdoor section got the most attention. Wiebe lingered there, explaining how crowded it became during summer break and how Shane would be replacing the previous outdoor lifeguard. He mentioned, more than once, that he hoped Shane could swim, phrasing it like a question even after Shane answered. Apparently, it had been a problem before.
Shane assured him he knew how to swim. Well enough, at least. He hadn’t grown up training for anything competitive, hadn’t spent his life in pools, but he was comfortable in the water. Comfortable enough to pass.
That seemed to satisfy Wiebe.
With a quick slap on the back and a few vague words of encouragement, Shane was handed a whistle, pointed toward the outdoor chair, and left to start his first shift.
Shane watched Wiebe disappear back inside and settled into his seat.
He didn’t love the job. But he didn’t hate it either. For now, that felt like enough. In his head it seemed easy enough.
And he was right.
The first few days were easy.
Sit in a chair, watch people swim, shout at kids who were running way too fast around the deep end of the pool. Shane was surprised by how rarely he actually went into the water. If someone was drowning, he threw an inflatable donut and hauled them back to the edge. Most of the time, that was enough.
The only real disruption was the quarterly wave session which was a mechanical monstrosity that promised the biggest waves a local pool could legally produce. It was the busiest part of his day, all limbs and splashing and dragged-out laughter. Kids and adults alike resurfaced coughing and grinning, thrilled by the chaos.
The rapid strings of “Are you okay?” and “Can you breathe?” to kids and their parents alike unnecessarily blurred together once he realised most of them loved being tossed around by the currents like shrimp escaping whales.
Those few days made Shane realise he actually kind of liked the job.
He enjoyed sitting. He didn’t really enjoy interacting with people which was, unfortunately, most of the job. But he liked how easy it had been. He could eat his prepped meals in peace, without a roommate wrinkling their nose at the smell of tamagoyaki or konbu.
He was midway through his tsukudani when something cold dotted his feet.
Shane’s glance up offered a sky that had darkened into flat, unfriendly grey clouds, pressing low and heavy.
Ah.
So that’s why he was rostered alone.
Parents moved quickly after that, herding kids toward the indoor pools, arms full of towels and bags dragged from the chaises ringing the deck. Shane snapped his bento shut and climbed down from the chair to grab the white umbrella resting at the base of the watch tower. He fixed it into place and pulled the cotton sheets loose, sheltering himself as the first real drops fell.
The rain intensified fast. The wind followed soon after it.
His rash guard clung unpleasantly to his skin, fabric slick and heavy, swimming trunks sticking where they shouldn’t. On clear days, Ottawa’s summer heat dried the leftover chlorine from his hair before he noticed it. Now, the cold crept in, sharp and persistent, making him acutely aware of every soaked seam.
He ran through the procedure anyway, securing the shade net, shutting down the wave system, movements automatic by now. He considered changing, then dismissed it. He was the only one outside. Empty pool or not, someone still had to watch it.
Shane returned to his chair and resumed eating.
By the time the last swimmers cleared the deck, the rain had settled into something heavier. It stung where it struck his legs unless he pulled them closer, curling inward without really thinking about it.
That was when he noticed he wasn’t alone.
A figure wandered along the edge of the outdoor pool, unhurried, scanning the area as if looking for something or someone. He stopped at the kiddy pool, peered down at the tiled depth markers, then dipped his toes into the water.
“Hey sir,” Shane called, lifting one hand lazily from the arm of the chair. “There’s an indoor pool you can use.”
The man turned slowly, following Shane’s finger. Rain slicked his hair flat against his forehead. For a second, Shane thought he might actually listen.
He didn’t.
Instead, the man stepped fully into the water, shoulders sinking beneath the surface like the cold didn’t bother him at all.
Shane frowned. “Uh. That’s the kiddy pool.”
The man tilted his head. “Is public pool.”
The accent caught Shane off guard. He was trying to pinpoint its origin.
“Yeah, but-” Shane gestured vaguely at the empty concrete, the overturned chairs, the rain pelting down harder. “You’re also… a grown man.”
The man glanced around exaggeratedly. “Where are the kids?”
Shane pressed his lips together.
“No kids,” the man continued, sweeping an arm through the air. “No kiddy pool.”
Shane sighed, shifting on the chair. Water trickled down his calves. “That’s not how it works.”
The man flashed a smile. It was sharp, amused. “Canada has strange rules.”
“Canada has normal rules,” Shane shot back. “You’re just breaking them.”
“You are new,” the man claimed suddenly.
Shane blinked. “What?”
“New lifeguard,” he continued, eyes flicking to the pristine whistle, the stiff posture. “Only new ones argue like this.”
Shane scowled. “I’ve been here for a week.”
“Ah.” The man nodded, as if that confirmed something important. “They test you.”
“Test me how?”
“By leaving you alone. In storm.” He spread his hands. “Very Canadian.”
Shane huffed despite himself.
“So,” Shane said after a beat. “Why are you here?”
The man hesitated, then shrugged. “I teach here.”
Shane’s brow furrowed. Something clicked. “Oh. You’re-”
“Yes,” the man emphasised immediately. “The name on schedule.”
“Elio?”
His face twisted. “No.”
“Eli?”
“No.”
“Elijah?”
“Absolutely not.”
Shane winced. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Is Ilya,” he groaned.
Shane repeated it under his breath. “Ilya.”
The man smiled again. Softer this time. “You learn.”
Shane offered a smile back. “If you teach here, then where is your class?”
Ilya glanced towards the sky, rain slanting harder against the concrete then back towards the glass doors leading inside. “Seems cancelled.”
“Oh, really?” Shane scoffed at the obvious. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“Schedule is paper. Paper does not update itself.”
Shane huffed a laugh before he could stop himself.
“Front desk put sign up after I arrive, so now I am here.
“So you’re just killing time?”
Ilya smiled faintly. “I prefer not to waste it.”
He pushed off the pool floor and drifted toward the shallow end, movements unhurried. His fingers skimmed the patterned tiles, tracing the faded blues and whites like he was committing them to memory.
Shane leaned his cheek deeper into his palm, watching the way Ilya’s back flexed as he moved. It was smooth, practiced, unconcerned with the cold that had settled into Shane’s own skin.
Ilya reached the edge, planted his feet, and climbed out. He crossed the deck with easy strides and stopped at the base of the watch tower, holding out a towel.
“You look cold,” he said.
Shane hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.”
Ilya nodded once, already turning away. “See you, lifeguard.”
Shane watched Ilya disappear through the glass doors, his reflection briefly warped by the rain streaking down the windows.
He looked down at the towel in his hands, still warm in places, and tucked it over his feet like it might keep more than just the cold away.
2 more hours.
Shane leaned back in the chair, eyes on the rippling surface of the empty pool, and thought about the yellow highlighter and glittery ink.
He weirdly didn’t mind the wait.