This was not at all like a typical international competition that Yunho had gotten used to.

For one, there was the fact that there were no heats to qualify them for the finals that made it obvious, but also, there was hardly anyone in the stands watching.

But perhaps most importantly, he was sore; before a competition, he usually had about two weeks to taper his workouts, but he hadn't had the instruction to do that with this meet. He had been training hard right up until he flew to Germany, and the pain was so present that it was difficult to ignore.

The swinging was just a way for him to try to feel less stiff and less sore.

He shook out his legs and swung his arms some more, all while trying very hard not to look at the German star swimmer in the next lane. He shouldn't, because he knew his body held up just fine against the other swimmers – but they were much bigger than he was, and taller; that alone made them at that much more of an advantage. He needed to focus, and his competition was just distraction – nothing else.

Yunho was competing in just one freestyle event, the 200-metres, which had no heats; each country selected four of their swimmers to compete in each event. Because of that, the races were to take place over just one day.

It was uncommon for him to swim in just one event, and Yunho wasn't sure exactly why he wasn't chosen to compete in the other events, but he was trying not to think about that; it was hard enough already without going through the hundreds of possibilities in his head. They had flown him all the way to Germany to compete in this one race, and he had only one chance to prove himself.

Yunho took a deep breath.

This was his first competition since Nationals, when he had to drop out, and he rarely remembered being so nervous – he wasn't even this nervous at Worlds.

He stretched some more, he jogged on the spot some more, and he repeated the mantra over and over in his head: I can do it, I can do it, I can do it. And then, he was realizing, he was much, much too nervous for this swim, and he had to calm down.

No matter what, swimming was a psychological sport as any other, and he couldn't put his best foot forward in this state.

Yunho quickly and carelessly pulled on his warm-ups and found a chair to sit in until he would be asked to swim.

Yunho then sat still, and stared only at the diving block in front of him – the same one he'll be climbing on to in a few minutes, and as always before a competition, he pushed every thought out of his head – the swimmer in the next lane, his chances for the next Olympics, the aches and pains, and even his mantra of "I can do it"s – and filled his thoughts instead with all of the things he needed for the swim.

And really, there wasn't much to think about. He needed to focus on the dive, the technique on his , the pacing. And then he would let his body do the rest.

He had completely cleared his head when he heard the announcement asking the athletes to get ready for the race, and he approached it.

He heard a "Let's go, Jung," and felt a clap on his shoulder, but he was too focused on the upcoming swim that he didn't even acknowledge it.

He stepped on top of the block. He put his goggles down, and pushed them into his eyes. He made one more swing of his arms, and one more kick of his legs, and then carefully placed his feet exactly where he wanted them to be.

It was like the whole pool was silent, except the words he was listening for – "on your marks" – which were loud and clear. He bent down, adjusted his feet, and looked forward into the spot that he knew he wanted to dive into – and then he put his head down and hooked his fingertips under the block.

And as soon as he heard the beep, he was off.

He dove exactly as he wanted, and his butterfly kicks were nice and strong and fast – and he came up to the surface just before the 15-metre mark. He started pulling himself forward with his arms at that point, pacing himself.

Within the first 25 metres, he caught a glimpse of the shadow on the bottom of the pool that the German swimmer was ahead of him by a bit, maybe by a quarter of a body length – and he momentarily wanted to kick harder and pull harder until he was ahead – but then he consciously stopped himself; he needed the gas for the rest of the swim.

He nailed the turn, and for the second half of the race, his mind was racing, he wanted to pull ahead, he had to give it everything he had –

Little by little, he pulled harder and kicked faster with the energy that he had saved up in the first part of the race. He knew he was catching up; just a little bit and he might even be able to overtake him – but he was running out of time and length… And then seeing the last 15-metre line approaching, he took one extra-large breath and kept his head down and pulled harder, pushing himself and pulling his arm around one last time –

 The very tip of his finger drove into the pad with conviction, and he knew he nailed it.

He gasped for a breath and lifted his head above the water, and for a few seconds, he had to focus on catching his breath.

And then he finally looked up at the board.

He could hardly believe his eyes.

Yunho really didn't expect the sob that escaped his breath, or the hot tears falling from his eyes almost immediately.

He was being ridiculous, really, so silly.

He felt a hand clap on his back, and he did everything he could to pull himself together before having to look up at his assistant coach, who had travelled with them to this meet.

"Nicely done," he said with a smile. "Good work."

The response from his assistant coach was so underwhelming and disproportionate to the amount of emotions that he was feeling, but he nodded and swallowed, and climbed out of the pool. His coach handed him a towel, and he covered his face with it to hide his tears before anything else.

When he let his face emerge from under the towel, his German competitor had smacked him on the shoulder.

"Good swim," said Brandt in English with a large smile, and Yunho couldn't help but wonder, How are you not devastated right now? Or are you just acting?

Or was it that he cared so little about this meet that he wasn't even trying?

Yunho swallowed. A pang of insecurity pierced through him, but he nodded. "You too," he replied, also in English.

He turned away pretty quickly – he did not have to torture himself right now – and he returned to his chair. He stumbled into the seat, and picked up his phone, hoping to distract himself from the emotions, when he saw that he had received a text.

Did you kill it or did you kill it

Yunho swallowed and typed a reply with shaking fingers.

I killed it

Good

Yunho breathed out, and was trying to think of what to say to that, when another reply arrived from Changmin.

We're definitely going to the Olympics together

Yunho couldn't hold back the next sob.

Yunho barely pulled himself together for the shabby little medal ceremony, in which he received his medal in a smattering of applause before being ushered off quickly to make way for the next set of medal recipients. The team were bussed back to their hotel immediately afterwards, and when he was in his hotel room, he had to lie down and take some deep breaths to calm himself down. He'd texted his parents too, to tell them that he'd won his event, but even his parents didn't understand how significant that had been for him, just telling him congratulations before sending him a picture of the zucchini that they'd been growing in their backyard.

"Did you want to go out sightseeing before the banquet?" asked Soonil with a sigh.

Soonil had won silver in his 100-metre stroke event – he was almost certainly off the Olympic team at this point.

They were in Germany after all, but Yunho shook his head. "Go ahead without me."

Yunho didn't even want to go to the banquet, never mind go out to explore.

Soonil shrugged and left the room, finally leaving Yunho alone in it.

Yunho texted Changmin again, just to ask him how his training went that day, but Changmin didn't reply. He was probably already in bed, with the time difference and all.

Yunho sighed and closed his eyes. And maybe it was the fact that he had been so tense for the whole day, or because he was jetlagged – but he fell asleep almost right away.

Yunho woke up when Soonil returned from his trip, just in time to get suited up for the banquet. Soonil was in better spirits and showed Yunho pictures the food he had in town, and then urged Yunho to be dressed. Yunho complied, but only very reluctantly, then let Soonil herd him into the bus.

Yunho used to be the life of every party, but why was he tired today? He was just sitting alone at a table, sipping on his wine and picking at the snacks. He texted Changmin, but he didn't reply; he was probably sleeping in, since it was Sunday.

Yunho really kind of couldn't wait to go back to his dorm in Korea and sleep.

He was reaching for a potato chip when he realized that someone had come to him to take the seat next to him. He looked up and saw that it was Brandt, smiling widely and clapping Yunho on his shoulder. Yunho forced out a smile, but held back a sigh.

God, he didn't feel like expending his energy talking in English to this guy.

 Brandt said something – Yunho didn't even catch what language it was – and gave Yunho another friendly smack on his shoulder, to which Yunho shook his head.

"I don't know what you're saying," said Yunho in Korean.

Brandt smiled, then spoke in very slow and clear English. "You are very fast."

Yunho got that.

"Thank you," he replied back in English.

"Next time I see you, Olympics."

Yunho chuckled. "Maybe." Maybe. Maybe I'll see you there.

"I will be faster at the Olympics."

Yunho shrugged. "That's nice, but you think I'll just be sitting there not training and not getting faster?" he asked in Korean.

Brandt looked confused, but didn't reply or ask Yunho to repeat himself. He then spoke again. "How do you train?"

Yunho raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Brandt pulled out a pen from his pocket and handed it to Yunho. Yunho just stared at him blankly, and Brandt pointed to Yunho's paper napkin.

"You. Training. Schedule."

Then it clicked.

Brandt wanted to know what Yunho's days looked like. He wanted to know how Yunho trained.

Yunho couldn't stop himself from laughing a bit.

"Secret," said Yunho jokingly.

Brandt made a face and took another drink of his wine.

"I'm just kidding. It's not a secret," said Yunho in Korean, and he filled in the small napkin with what he did throughout the day. He just the normal things – the morning runs, the morning and afternoon swims, the weight training, the technique sessions.

He gave it to Brandt after he finished, and Brandt took it to look at. His eyes widened as he read.

"No time for anything else," said Brandt.

"I don't train on Sundays," clarified Yunho.

Brandt frowned, nodded, and folded up the napkin and carefully placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He looked pensive, but he looked at Yunho and smiled again. "Nice talking to you. Have a good night."

"You too," said Yunho.

Brandt got up and integrated back into the crowd.

Yunho reached for another potato chip.