[1:27ρм]

[1:27ρм]

genre(s): high school, fluff, competitive swimming, swimmer!winwin x gn!reader

warning(s): none :) (okay maybe if you’re scared of water?? but like it’s a pool...)

word count: 1k

The whistle delivers a sharp rip through the atmosphere in the natatorium.

The piercing tone alludes to the athletes standing in their separated lanes the prompt. They stretch, preparing their boost into the water. And the buzzer sounds.

Pushing off their individual stands, bodies fly forward, past the blocks that solidify as their start positions.

The once conviviality of the cheers in the arena fade and there’s an antsy wave of noise that crashes full force.

Who’s going to win?

The several men, each from a different school, dolphin kick for about 15 metres. Swiftly, they emerge and beginning their strokes in the aqua. The splashing in the lanes are markers of how far each person is.

As the race continues, there’s an evident gap forming. It separates the leader and the other competitors.

Tearing your eyes from the race, you glance down at the sheet with all your interview questions.

For the past two months or so, you’ve been able to get a daily glimpse into the swim team’s preparations. You’ve learned how much effort it took and how many sacrifices were made to be able to present proud today.

NCT United High School is certainly home to some of the best athletes in the entire region. Dare you say country.

Competitive swimming is no different.

Before you know it, the rowdy applause of the crowd erupts. It bursts your eardrums but your curious eyes trail to the competition.

The victor floats ebulliently in lane 7. His red cap enamours the exuberant assemblage of students and staff in the venue.

Roars of cheers and delirium congregate and boys from NCT United HS flock to the successor’s side. They drag him out of the water and celebrate by basically wringing their arms around him.

Mind you, he’s still dripping wet from his race just mere moments prior.

They could care less, and they start chanting. Something about being in the lover group.

Grazing past the rows of seats for viewing, you amble your way forward. Though, you make sure to take your time as to not burst into the team’s celebration.

Yuta cheerfully passes him a towel, never missing the chance to show his bromance affection with an “I love you” slipping past his lips.

Plodding closer, you nudge Yuta a little to the side. He sends you a punctual wink of his eye before the Japanese man struts off to the side with the rest of the group. A sly man Yuta is.

“Y/n, it’s a pleasure to see you here.”

Grinning, you incite your own greeting. “Congratulations, Winwin. You worked hard and it paid off.”

He shyly reaches his arm over, scratching the nape of his neck in his usual embarrassment. “Thank you. So, uh, are you here to interview me again?”

“Are you free?”

He hums in accord. “I have all the time in the world.”

You can’t help but smile as you diverge your irises once more to the paper in your hand. With a notebook in your other hand, you begin the interview.

“After all your effort, you just won the regionals. Besides the extensive aspects of the sport, what would you say to be your favourite parts of swimming?”

Blinking attentively, you watch him adjust his swimming cap, pulling it off with the least amount of energy. His dark hair is released from its cage and dribbles with droplets of water. His googles dangle cautiously around his neck. The warmth of a towel embraces him, over his shoulders, covering his slim torso.

“I like the silence that contrasts the cheers. When I put my head down, it’s silent. It feels like I’m in my own world. But then, when I take a breath, I can hear the bursts of spectators. I feel a balance of tranquillity as well as encouragement. It pushes me further—and I really like the thrill of it.”

His pupils shimmer with an immense adoration for his passion. It’s kind of cute in your humble opinion.

“I’ve never really thought of it that way,” you inquire, letting his words sink in deeper. “Is there something you dislike or find the most challenging in the sport?”

Your gummy, warm smile promotes him to respond. “Practices. I would rather watch some YouTube or lay in bed and sleep. It’s too much work. I know it is a bad way to think, but everything requires energy.”

A laugh crusades from your lips all because you’ve definitely experienced the application of his struggle.

“Then what would keep you motivated when you were feeling down? Especially since there’s no crowd when you’re practicing and you dislike practices.”

Winwin diverts his eyes, analyzing everyone except for you. Your hand is anxious and ready to move and jot down everything he is about to say.

“I did want to quit once,” he admits, bopping his head as he recalls the low he reached in the sport. “I didn’t want to continue driving myself forward for something that felt like a chore. Practices became dull and the routine became boring. There was nothing worth looking forward to, you know?”

“Absolutely. That’s a hard place to rebound from.”

“Yes, so I spent my time moping alone. Until,” he pauses, perhaps contemplating his following sentences.

“I met this person. They changed the game for me.”

“They were there at every practice, watching, learning, and documenting. I witnessed the love they had for their passion and the willingness they possessed to continue into the future.”

“They reminded me that improvement is wasting energy for the right things. Instead of being so caught up in what I didn’t want to do, that person showed me that I should focus the energy I would waste into advancement.”

The eyebrows on your face rise upwards. You did not expect that answer. It’s clear as day on your countenance that the answer was unanticipated. Yet, Winwin doesn’t seem to be too concerned.

“And may I ask who that may be?”

Your inquisitive gaze is met with a bashful grin. His eyes are urging you to give it a guess.

“Your coach?”

He shakes his head no.

“Your teammates?”

He shakes his head once more.

“Your girlfriend?”

Winwin frowns but still shakes his head, mumbling something along the lines of “I don’t even have one.”

“Then who?”

Winwin reluctantly tosses you a diffident, gentle smile.

“Who else? You.”

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✧ i do not own any of the pictures used.