The first thing Sehun does after getting back to his room is turn the television on. They’re bound to be showing the highlights of the day and there is something that he absolutely cannot miss.

More like someone he can’t miss.

He turns up the volume high so he can hear it through the door of the bathroom, where he takes a quick shower, washing off the smell of chlorine that seems to have seeped into his hair strands. The hotel people seem to be very thoroughly purifying their water for all the athletes, albeit without reason.

The hot water does a lot to cool him down and make his muscles relax, and he quickly washes himself, keeping an ear out for the news at the same time, which is, thankfully, a Korean channel.

It isn’t long before he’s done, quickly toweling himself dry and slipping on a pair of comfortable, grey sweatpants, and winding the towel around his neck to catch stray droplets that drip from his hair. They’re still on track and field, and he watches as yet another athlete gets asked about her performance in comparison to someone else’s.

Sehun has never really been a very competitive person, at least not with others, which was something that had always made his coaches doubtful about how well he would do in the long run. His competition has always been himself, and the sheer will and desire to win over himself and improve, improve, improve every single time he swims sometimes overwhelms him, but he holds on to it, and makes it his drive, the drive that has brought him all the way to this global stage, to the Olympics.

He is, what people of his country have begun calling him, the dark horse. And while many others have jokingly called him the newbie, it has definitely not stopped him from sailing through the heats and semifinals, into the finals of all races he has participated in, all in his first shot at the Olympics. People are whispering, he knows, about who he is and where he’s come from, but Sehun doesn’t let it affect him. While he has always been good at focusing on what he wants, so much so that he almost has tunnel-vision, he doesn’t let his inexperience show or affect him in any way.

Not that his coach, Junmyeon, would ever let him.

Sehun isn’t even surprised anymore when the door to his room bangs open and Junmyeon strolls in, asking, “Is it on yet?”

Sehun makes a negative noise in lieu of a proper reply, because they’ve moved on to sailing, which means that swimming would be next.

 “At least dry your damn hair, fanboy,” Junmyeon mutters, ducking into the bathroom to get the dryer, while earning himself a glare from Sehun.

“I am not a fan of his, hyung,” he replies almost petulantly, settling himself on the edge of his bed more comfortably as Junmyeon begins drying his hair, and pretends to not hear the sure sure that Junmyeon mutters under his breath.

The swimming highlights come on at last, and both of them fall silent.

They do this for every race. Knowledge, Junmyeon always says, about whatever, will always be useful. Knowing who your opponents are, although Sehun has no interest in measuring his skills against them, never hurts, according to Junmyeon. If nothing, he always says, you’ll at least have a name to curse if you lose.

He’s a fish in water, a fancy fish who moves his arms in perfect arcs, whose legs propel him ahead of others who are taller than him, whose dives have unnecessary grace even in cutthroat competition. It had fascinated a sixteen year old Sehun to watch him swim four years ago at the Olympics, and again at every race after that.

Zhang Yixing, the reigning world champion and gold medalist.

Zhang Yixing, whose every race Sehun has watched with his eyes peeled.

Zhang Yixing, against whom Oh Sehun has a race tomorrow.

Sehun has always been surprisingly good at composing and maintaining himself under pressure, no matter how tremendous it is, and golden boy Yixing is going to do nothing to change that. His routine stays the same, snapping the waist band of his suit after he slides it on, gathering up every strand of his hair under the tight cap and pulling it a wee bit above his ear lobes so he can stuff earphones into his ears later, snapping on the goggles over the cap and warming himself up under Junmyeon’s watchful eye.

There are other athletes and their coaches and trainers in the locker room, but both Junmyeon and Sehun ignore them. They always request to be given an area in some corner, because being alone for some time makes Sehun feel like he’s alone, and there’s nothing better than feeling that you’re alone to beat the pressure of ten thousand eyes on you.

Of course, Junmyeon does not count. He’s the pillar, strong and steady and always there in the background, ever silent, yet ever perceptive. There’s never really anything he says to Sehun before any of his races, because he knows that his presence alone plays its role in letting Sehun hold onto his nerves until it’s time for them to become sheer adrenaline and fuel his drive to win. It’s just a hug, a pat on his back, a soft do your best and an even softer hand guiding him out when it’s time to leave, and he slips on his hoodie and zips it up.

It’s always noisy, the crowd, when he steps outside, but he stuffs his earphones in and strides to his place in the fourth lane.

Breathes in, dumps his towel in the basket beside the chair, and breathes out.

Regulates his heartbeat. Makes himself aware of his surroundings without losing to it.

Closes his eyes and places a hand on his heart to attune himself to it, and breathes in and out again.

Takes his place before the platform and looks right, then left. There’s a guy from the US to his right and Zhang Yixing to his left. Looks at the lane in front of him. Stares into the depths of the water.

Focus. Breathes in and out again. Makes sure to loosen up all his muscles.

Climbs up on the platform. Grips the edge with his feet. Takes his place. Snaps on his goggles. Empties his mind, but stays alert. Every second counts.

There’s adrenaline rushing through his veins now, like the revving of a turbo engine, waiting to burst forth, and Sehun holds on to it…he holds it…holds it……..holds it……….until the signal sounds.

And Sehun lets go.

Junmyeon has always said it, but if Zhang Yixing is a fish in water, Sehun is an eel. His long limbs and sinewy body give him a physical advantage and he always needs half a less than the average athlete, which definitely increases his speed. He is also quite single-minded in races, his focus on the destination, on winning and on doing it as quickly as possible.

(Junmyeon had called Sehun a limp noodle when he had first seen him swim.)

But as he watches Sehun cut through the water, he can safely say that he has solidly evolved from a noodle to one of the best, if not the best swimmer in South Korea right now.

A 100m race gets over pretty quickly, even if it is butterfly , and is mostly a question of speed, accuracy and technique. The stamina part adds on in 400m and above, which Sehun isn’t in. they were focusing only on certain races for his first Olympics.

They say every swimmer experiences the water differently, feels it differently, but Sehun has always told Junmyeon that the water was always quiet for him. Quiet, and encouraging, he likes to call it, like the water conspires with his mind and body to make him faster and stronger and makes him push himself even harder than he would have.

All thoughts go flying out of Junmyeon's mind, however, when they enter the last stretch and he sees lanes 4 and 5, Sehun and Yixing, neck-to-neck, vying for first place. They’re both pushing hard, and Junmyeon almost feels out of breath himself, as the cries of the crowd reach crescendo and cheers burst through.

It’s ended.

One second.

Sehun rips off his goggles and cap and dunks himself in the water once and swipes back his hair off his face, after he’s hit the sensor on the wall and the race has ended.

One.

Second.

That is how much quicker Zhang Yixing was, than Sehun, and Sehun drags his eyes off the big screen to the sidelines, where he knows Junmyeon is standing. Junmyeon offers him a wide smile and a thumb up and Sehun feels a tad bit relieved, because this was his fastest time ever. It’s always a competition against himself, first and foremost, and then, against others.

It does not change the fact that Zhang Yixing was faster. But Sehun can’t find it in himself to care too much, because he’s just earned himself his first Olympic medal, no matter if it’s silver, and not gold.

“It was a good race, congratulations,” comes a soft voice in halting, lilting Korean.

Sehun turns to see Zhang Yixing holding out a hand and wearing a dimpled smile on his face. His eyes, devoid of the goggles that are now dangling around his neck, seem to be…shining, either from victory or from the sparkly water, Sehun can’t tell. His hand, however, moves automatically to shake Yixing’s as he says, “You too. Congratulations.”

Either Sehun imagines it or the eyes gets sparklier, the smile gets wider, and the dimple gets deeper as Yixing nods a thanks and ducks under the lane divider and he’s beside Sehun.

And Sehun does not know what he’s thinking, maybe he’s not thinking at all, ok, he’s definitely not thinking when he blurts out, ”Next time—“

Yixing pauses and looks at him curiously.

“Next time,” Sehun continues, stoically staring ahead into the empty pool. “Next time, I’ll win. No matter if you’re there racing against me or not. I will win.”

And he ducks under the lane divider himself, but not before looking at Yixing through the corner of his eye, and expecting to see a confused expression because of all the Korean he spoke, but all he sees is a smirk in place of a smile, but the dimple is still there, and that right there, is a very deadly combination.

Junmyeon is waiting for him with his towel when he comes out, and he drops it on his head with a you did well and a pat on his shoulder.

Sehun knows that he can do better. He can win, Zhang Yixing be there, or not.

And as he stands on the podium and accepts his medal and bouquet, as the Chinese national anthem plays, he vows to himself that the next time he’s in a race, the South Korean anthem will play.

He’ll make sure of it.