Iruka practically threw down his book bag the moment he entered the locker room. He had little sympathy for the way that the heavy textbooks thudded roughly against the dark flooring.

It had been one hell of a day, and that was even without taking the two exams into account. His Profs had been on edge, his friends worked up over drama, and just—

Iruka knelt and keyed in the combination to his locker.

He needed to swim, and that was that.

Without hesitation, he yanked the brightly-colored speedo bag from the depths of the compartment. One of the bag's clasps clanged loudly against the metal locker door and he rubbed an ear with distaste.

Damn.

He took out his frustration on the books again, this time shoving them as far into the locker as he could.

I'm so done with everything.

After years of swimming competitively, Iruka had lost any sense of self-consciousness in the locker room. It came with the sport.

He'd never admit just how much fun it was to watch newcomers or random visitors come in after swim practice. They'd either go red and hide their faces, or just make a beeline for the toilet stalls—or a combination of the three.

But how could he blame them? After all, it was basically a bunch of dudes stripping in the shower trying to get to class on time.

Iruka slipped into one of his usual suits. He liked the longer, jammer-style, even if 'longer' meant only covering down to the mid-thigh. More than half of the guys on the team liked the shorter speedos, flaunting their athletic physiques without shame.

It wasn't that Iruka necessarily disliked the style on others—or had any issues with how he looked now—but rather he just wasn't comfortable wearing anything that short.

Tossing his towel over his shoulder, Iruka retrieved his goggles and swim cap before pulling a mesh bag from his gear. Closing his locker, he turned on his heel, feeling the pull buoy and kickboard bang against his legs with the motion.

Finally.

Iruka could already smell the strong scent of chlorine through the door to the pool deck. It excited him, much like greeting an old friend—nobody understood his references when he actually vocalized them.

Without meaning to, he found himself speeding up, eager to claim one of the center lanes away from the wall.

As he passed through the remainder of the locker room, Iruka heard the soft creak of a stall door from up ahead.

The toilets were lined up in a separate alcove, adjacent to the main lockers. Small lights formed a plain, yet decorative arc above a neat row of sinks which sat across from the toilets themselves.

Against the far wall were the urinals. But of course, the restrooms were more often a place of privacy for people to change, so it wasn't like they saw much action other than for convenience.

Having retraced the same path countless times, Iruka paid little attention to anything going on in the alcove under normal circumstances. This time, however, something caught his attention.

Well, someone's hair , to be precise.

The student was washing his hands at one of the sinks, wearing a tracksuit and a mask pulled nearly all the way up past the bridge of his nose.

Iruka's brow furrowed.

—the hell? A mask?

In the summer?

But what had really gotten his attention was the guy's shock of silvery-white hair, pulled back by a dark headband. It was spiking everywhere, standing up as though he'd either just demolished an entire can of hairspray or stuck his finger in a power outlet.

The guy turned and Iruka abruptly turned back to face forward, eyes fixing on the door to the pool deck.

It was rude to stare. What had he been thinking?

He mentally kicked himself.

The guy brushed past him, retreating back down the hall.

Time to swim . Iruka glared at the door up ahead.

Focus on that.

Iruka had started swimming when he was young, quickly gravitating towards medium-distance events. His specialty, for many years, had been the 200 free and backstroke sprints.

Recently, however, he'd found a new love for a race which took him far out of his comfort zone: the open water half-mile sprint. That being said, Iruka had still been put on two different relays for the upcoming meets: both of them IMs.

—And both of them were fly.

The thought of training fly, however, was nothing compared to his distaste for breaststroke. He just felt like he was sinking every time he tried to swim it.

But the coach had said that he'd be put on a breaststroke race sooner or later.

And that meant Iruka had something to work on.

After doing a series of stretches on the pool deck, Iruka lowered himself into the cold water, feeling an indescribable sense of relief. Closing his eyes, he let himself fall back, splashing down into the empty, center lane.

For a moment, he just floated here.

Iruka had two hours before his next class—plenty of time to get in a few sets. It was almost like meditation to him, even when he already had swimming six times a week.

Holding his breath, he rolled over and moved himself back until he could push off from the wall. Arms pulled into a tight streamline position, he began his warm-up.

As he continued swimming, the lanes slowly began to fill up. He always followed the same schedule so that he purposely came in early enough to claim a solo lane. As much as he would never voice it out loud, his speed tended to scare off most casual swimmers, so coming early would almost always guarantee him a single spot.

When Iruka next stopped at the wall, he reached into his stuff and withdrew a sandwich bag with a notecard inside. It was basically a 'waterproof' stack of workouts written in sharpie.

His heart sank as he read the top notecard. It was today's workout.

IMs—a lot of them—and then breaststroke drill.

It wasn't that he disliked swimming the endless cycles of fly, back, breast, and free—but rather the fact that it was tiring as hell in the long run.

Iruka sipped a Gatorade and contemplated his life choices, watching the nearby pace clock tick by.

Was it worth doing the full IM circuit if he only needed to do the breaststroke drills for later? It wasn't exactly like he was struggling…

He pulled his water bottle filled with Gatorade and stared at it. The thing shiny and green, featuring the bright-white Gatorade logo and other various wordage.

Do I really want to do IM work today?

Not really.

Iruka set the bottle down and sighed.

He'd had pancakes this morning and certainly had the energy to burn.

Might as well.

As it turned out, that extra energy worked wonders.

Iruka was part-way through his set when he noticed the pool filling up. People were pairing up in lanes. Like normal, they were avoiding him, and today he was especially glad. It definitely was a challenge to do a fly set with another person in the lane, especially if said person wasn't a fellow swimmer.

He soon finished the first set, red-faced and panting.

Leaning against the tiled edge of the pool, Iruka took a long drink of Gatorade. His arms burned slightly, and his limbs were beginning to take on the characteristic fatigue of a good workout.

Looking down at his drill, he saw that he had a two-minute rest period before a short sprint set. Inwardly, he groaned at the thought of sprinting, but having a longer break definitely was worth the pain.

Two minutes…

Holding the Gatorade bottle like an otter, he pushed off from the wall and allowed himself to float.

Without meaning to, Iruka's eyes slid to the lane just to his left. Someone was just getting in the pool…

Iruka froze.

It was that student from the locker room— still masked. And he was wearing a long-sleeved swim top, much like what lifeguards wore while on duty. Both mask and shirt were of the same deep, navy-blue.

Iruka had to fight the look of confusion which threatened to overtake his features.

What in the blazes?

Even as he watched, the guy slipped into the water gracefully, sinking up to his neck before turning back to face the wall, rummaging for something in a small swim bag.

Now… Iruka would never exactly consider himself a romantic type—far from it actually… But as the masked man rose to his feet, the upper half of his body rising out of the water, there was something about the way that the darkened fabric clung to his arms and back.

If Iruka had a type…

You're staring again . He shook himself. Get a grip on yourself.

His eyes drifted back up to the pace clock.

He had five seconds.

Shit.

Yelping, he splashed back to the wall and grabbed his goggles from where he'd left them on the poolside. The Gatorade bottle rolled away from the poolside, bouncing slightly before settling against his gear.

3…

2…

1…

Why did the water feel so cold against his face?

He surfaced and began to swim at a medium-fast pace.

Wait… this is supposed to be a sprint.

He mentally kicked himself.

Guess it's a build-up now.

The far wall was approaching, the bluish line on the bottom of the pool distorted slightly over the distance.

Alright, Iruka, this is a build-up.

Time to work it up to a sprint.

He rocketed into the turn, tucking himself into a ball before pushing off from the wall. Working to clear his mind, Iruka held the fast pace until the finish, relaxing only once his hand was firmly placed against the pool wall.

The rest of the sprint set seemed to evaporate in a mixture of pure adrenaline, self-consciousness, and deep-seeded panic.

Before he knew it, Iruka was back to floating and sipping Gatorade.

Since the man had entered the pool, Iruka had been strictly avoiding looking at him. Now, however, he couldn't contain his curiosity.

His eyes moved back to the lane next to him.

The guy was at the wall and facing away from him, a pair of clear goggles resting against his forehead. As Iruka had expected, the mask was still intact, but now, however, that navy shirt was now downright plastered to the guy.

Iruka desperately wanted to run away and hide.

Instead: he tried not to choke on chlorinated water.

The dude was ripped , but not in a bulky, body-builder-ish kind of way. His build was more like that of a gymnast or fellow swimmer. Through the mask, Iruka could see high cheekbones and a defined nose.

The hem of his shirt floated near the surface of the pool, rippling slightly in the current kicked up by one of the nearby jets. Because of this, Iruka could clearly see the light-gray suit that he wore. It was basically the swimming equivalent of leggings… and it left little to the imagination.

Much to Iruka's horror, the man suddenly began to turn towards him.

Head tilting, he leaned back against the poolside, lazily propping his forearms behind him as he took in Iruka. Water dripped from his hair, which was—much to Iruka's amazement— still somewhat spiked.

"What do you swim?"

Iruka felt his stomach drop.

Huh?

The guy had a smooth voice—not super deep or high-pitched.

He also, now that Iruka could see him clearly, had a long scar tracing across his left eye and down his face. While the scar itself wasn't distracting, the guy had some kind of alluring quality to him, and that…

Oh—right.

"Mostly free," he replied, "working on the half-mile sprint."

The man hummed softly and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Maa, I'm guessing that they keep throwing you on fly races though."

Iruka couldn't stop the flush from creeping up onto his face. Offering an awkward laugh, he tried to kill the awkwardness with a sip of Gatorade.

"What makes you say that?" He paddled closer to the wall and made to set the water bottle down.

Halfway through the motion, however, Iruka changed his mind and instead leaned into the tiles, the drink pressed against his chest as if it were a precious token to ward off evil.

The man shrugged, still stubbornly looking upwards. "You seem very comfortable with fly."

Iruka dipped his head, smiling. "Thanks."

He could feel the incoming awkward silence, every nerve in his body screaming that it was his turn to speak now.

C'mon, Iruka. Think.

"So what do you do?" He asked, allowing his curiosity to take over for a moment. "I'd guess that you're a runner, but…"

Do runners usually build their upper bodies like that ? He finished in his head, letting his voice trail off.

The man looked at him, eyes curving into a smile. "I do run. Lately, I've been doing triathlons."

Okay, that would certainly explain it—

Wait—wait, why am I thinking like this?

Gray eyes stared at Iruka with amusement. "I feel like you might get a kick out of them. If you swim distance already, then it would only be a matter of getting used to cycling and running..."

Iruka felt his heart stop. For a moment, he struggled to find words—

He was saved by the pace clock.

Offering the man a casual "maybe," he went right into the next set of his workout—breaststroke drill.

At least he could hide his blush underwater.

The downside about doing drill: he had the perfect opportunity to see the other man's swimming.

Suddenly, Iruka wasn't sure which was worse: stumbling in conversation, or getting to watch the man swim in near-perfect freestyle form.

To make matters worse, Iruka noticed that the man also kept his mask lowered while swimming. And from what Iruka could see, not only was the man good at swimming, he was also extremely good looking.

And that was in the water with all the distortion.

The result: Iruka almost ran into the wall. Three times .

After yet another near-miss with the wall, which would've marked his fourth collision with the tiles, Iruka managed to get a grip on himself.

He worked his focus back into his swimming, concentrating on his buoyancy and balance within the water—and the individual muscle groups needed to perform each part of the stroke.

When he finally finished his workout, the man was in the process of leaving, smoothly exiting the pool.

Again, Iruka tried not to stare, but it was becoming painfully obvious that there was no way that he could possibly control himself.

He hid behind his Gatorade instead, removing his goggles as a distraction.

Iruka, you're done with your workout, might as well…

Sighing, Iruka peeled the swim cap off his head. It felt amazing for two seconds…

And then his hair came down into his face.

Groaning, Iruka realized that the damned silicone had taken his hair tie with it.

Nose grazing the pool's surface, he hunted around in the water.

I knew I should've put two on there. If I only use one hair tie, it just falls out…

Finally, he found the ever-elusive band proudly suspended several centimeters from the bottom of the pool.

You little shit, now I've got you.

It was only after he surfaced that Iruka realized the other man was staring.

Maybe it's my hair…?

Who knew that fighting a blush was so difficult?

He silently thanked the heavens that he'd just completed a workout and was already flushed from that.

Unfreezing, the man pulled a towel around himself, hiding the lower part of his body beneath the blue and black-striped folds. Smiling, he gave Iruka a mock salute.

"See ya'." He winked.

Iruka sank back into the water, his hair rippling around his shoulders like seaweed.

He waved robotically.

And then the man left, slinging the small swim bag over his shoulder before disappearing back into the locker rooms.

Numb, Iruka stared after him. How could he even begin to process that ?

Still in a state of shock, he began to pack up his belongings. But just as he picked up the small bag with his workout written inside, he stopped.

There was a new sheet of paper behind the thin plastic, depicting a messy scrawl that somehow matched its owner:

"Let me know what time would work best for you.

[Katayama Honors Campus]

Kakashi Hatake"

Below the words, there was a phone number.

Iruka let himself fall back into the water with a splash, eyes only on the note clutched in his hand.

He grinned.

Fin.