"Where are they," Enjolras mutters angrily to himself, glaring at the clock hanging on the wall as if it has personally prevented his friends from getting to practice on time. It is already five minutes past six, when practice was supposed to start. It is not unusual for most of his friends to be late—none of them cared about the sport or the team nearly as much as he did—but usually Combeferre at least was there on time. And Coach Valjean—he was usually around. The fact that he was not there was making Enjolras a little uneasy. He surely hoped practice had not been cancelled of all things.

Sighing, Enjolras tugs on his goggles, needlessly adjusting them as he lounges on the block at the end of the tiny pool. Since their college is small, swimming is in no way a priority for funding and the team had to put up with a facility that had been state-of-the-art circa 1950. Now, it is decrepit and damp, with peeling paint lining the walls and murky water as a result of a bad filtration system. Joly was always insisting that it could not be sanitary and it usually took more than a little coaxing by Bossuet to get him to jump in for practice.

Just as he is about to give up waiting and go call somebody, the locker room door bangs open, hitting the wall and his friends start pouring out onto the deck. Enjolras sees Courfeyrac clad in a bright blue swimsuit chasing a laughing Jehan around the corner of the pool as the later repeatedly yells to not run on deck. Marius is loitering by the door, watching them anxiously. Bahorel has his arms wrapped around Feuilly and looks like he is about to toss the smaller man into the pool, judging by the amount of kicking, squirming, and fighting Feuilly is putting up. Joly and Bossuet stand by the edge of the pool, as Joly looks down at the water dubiously, while his boyfriend rubs soothing circles onto his back, ruffling the t-shirt he still has on.

Enjolras' attention is drawn away from observing his friend's antics when he notices the unfamiliar man talking to Coach Valjean and Combeferre. He frowns, they do not really get a lot of new teammates—there had not even been a team at their school for decades until Enjolras showed up his first week of college and set about creating it—the only addition they had made to the original team was to add Marius the year before after Courfeyrac had practically forced him to join upon hearing he used to swim in high school.

Needless to say, new teammates were certainly rare and Enjolras' attention was piqued. He appraised the stranger from across the pool. He was tall, not as tall as Enjolras, but close, and just solid lean muscle—the man looked like every inch of him was meant to be in the pool and had been for most of his life. Sharp hip bones poked through pale skin framing six-pack abs. The green lycra of his suit hugged shapely thighs and hung low on his waist, revealing a smattering of dark hair trailing up his stomach. His broad chest and shoulders were specked with freckles that ghosted up over his long neck and reappeared on his crooked nose. He had deep green eyes that crinkled with mirth as they met Enjolras' evaluating gaze. Happy with his assessment of the man, Enjolras marched around the deck to meet up with the coach and be introduced to this supposed new teammate.

"Ah, good Enjolras, you should meet our newest team member," Valjean says as he spots Enjolras approaching them, "Grantaire, this is our team captain, Enjolras. Enjolras, this is Grantaire," he informs the blond, gesturing toward the new boy.

Enjolras methodically sticks out a hand to the boy, this Grantaire, which is accepted with a laughing smirk, "Welcome to the team," Enjolras says flatly, annoyed by the glint in the boy's eyes. The look Grantaire is giving him immediately sends unexplainable dislike, mixed with something else, some raw emotion Enjolras cannot name, bubbling up in his stomach. He tries to push it down and be professional—this boy, however irritating an air he was giving off, had not done anything to Enjolras, so he offers him a hard smile as their hands meet. Enjolras is slightly taken aback by the jolt that the boy's palm meeting his sends up his arm, but he manages to ignore it and focuses on what Grantaire is saying.

"Thanks," Grantaire grunts, "I just transferred here," he adds suddenly looking a little anxious as he stares back at Enjolras. There is a moment of awkward silence as the two size up the other, before Valjean claps his hands, making Grantaire jump and calls out,

"Guess we should get practice started, everyone in your lanes!"

There is a mad scramble as everyone discards remnants of their street clothes and dashes to their respective lanes. Enjolras, Grantaire and Combeferre stay at the end of the pool for a moment, as Grantaire dubiously looks at the pool, which is slowly filling up with rowdy college boys.

"Grantaire," Combeferre says quietly, "You can share a lane with Enjolras—he usually swims alone so his lane is free," he informs him with a look at Enjolras that clearly showed he was not to be crossed.

He bit back a groan—Enjolras hated sharing lanes when he did not have to, and especially since he did not know how good this boy was, regardless of the hardy stock of muscle he was displaying, he did not want to be the one to deal with Grantaire learning the ropes of the team, "Come on," he gripes, resigned, "I swim over here," and with that he leads Grantaire to his, no, he reminds himself, their, lane.

Once the warm-up is written on the board, Enjolras ignores the new addition to his lane, and flings himself into the water, and into the practice. As he breaks the surface of the water, he feels the tension of the day and his anger at the lane intruder, slide away. He almost smiles as he lets his body loosen and glide through the water, arms methodically slapping the surface with every stroke. He lets his thoughts just drift as he makes his way through the water. This is why he loves swimming—it allows him to work out his frustrations on something that is not one of his friends and it allows him to not have to think all the time. When he is swimming, he does not have to deal with any of the stress that he usually carries around and he can just be.

Enjolras is so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely registers that Grantaire has not started swimming. It is not until he practically runs into the boy when he goes to turn at the wall that Enjolras jerks his head up out of the water, all relaxation previously gained from being in the pool evaporating.

"What are you doing?" he growls, anger building at the pathetic boy just clinging to the side of the pool, "You cannot be done already," he quips knowing the answer already.

Grantaire meets his eye definitely and shakes his head, "Nah, I just don't feel good," he says and offers up what Enjolras is pretty sure a fake cough as proof.

Enjolras' eyes narrow, "Push through, you're not helping the team sitting on the side here," he sneers and irritably pushes off the wall again. He is unable to regain the calm he initially felt and grits his teeth, seething about the boy who is still hanging on the wall by the time Enjolras gets travels the length of the pool twice and returns.

Lucky for Grantaire, he has decided to try actually swimming by the time Enjolras is done with the set, because Enjolras is pretty sure he would have bitten the boy's head off if he had not.

The rest of the practice is pretty much the same—Grantaire probably swims only a quarter of what Enjolras does and by the time Valjean has said they are done, Enjolras storms off deck and into the locker room fuming. He dresses in a rush and is slamming the door open to leave as his friends are all making their way in to get changed.

He brushes past them, not in the mood to deal with any of their joviality as he sees Courfeyrac with an arm thrown around Grantaire's shoulders and the boys laughing together. Enjolras pauses for a minute to glare at the new boy and then his friend, completely furious at the slacker, and not able to figure out why everyone else is not.

Combeferre grabs his arm as he goes to slip out of the pool, "Enjolras," he says gently, not loosening his grip when Enjolras tries to tug away.

"What," Enjolras replies, incensed, but he relaxes his arm and allows his friend to pull him aside.

Combeferre leads him to the bleachers and makes Enjolras sit down next to him, "What is wrong?" he asks, while he rubs soothing circles into Enjolras' wrist with the hand that still holds Enjolras in place.

Enjolras shakes his head, anger and frustration billowing up in his throat making it almost impossible for him to speak. He is not sure why Combeferre has to ask what is wrong—Enjolras hates when any of his teammates do not give their all in practice—did everyone else miss Grantaire sitting out for most of the workout?

Combeferre sighs and releases Enjolras' hand, "Let it be Enjolras," he tells him, "It is Grantaire's first day and he told me he has not been in the water for some time, just give him some time to adjust."

That is no excuse to not at least try, Enjolras thinks irately, but he just grunts in response to Combeferre's attempt at soothing, "I'll see you at home Combeferre," he informs his roommate as he stomps across the deck to the door and leaves without another word.

The cool air that hits his face as he walks into the night breaks his anger and makes him calm down slightly. By the time Enjolras has reached the apartment he shares with Combeferre, his rage has simmered down to annoyance. It is with slight regret that he realizes he may have overreacted somewhat. All of his friends have off days here and there, where they do not swim much of the practice. Enjolras considers that it is partly why their team does not do well at any of the meets they go to. It usually makes him angry, but not to the same extent as the whirlwind of rage that he felt tonight. He assumes the difference tonight was that he had to actually share a lane with the slacker. His friends usually give him space in the pool, so as not to anger him and sharing a lane with this Grantaire, just inflamed his irrational anger.

Entering his room with a sigh, Enjolras flings himself face down on his bed for a few moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his thoughts. There was no reason that this new boy should affect him so thoroughly. He had managed to contain his temper fairly well over the past few months—he could not remember the last time he had seriously blown up at one of his friends—and a couple hours with Grantaire and Enjolras was suddenly ready to yell at everyone; but especially Grantaire. Enjolras wanted to grab his shoulder, and, and—Enjolras grimaced as his thoughts went from shaking sense into Grantaire, to feeling the obviously developed muscles that had stood out on the boy's bare shoulders.

Blushing furiously and shaking his head to dispel all the thoughts of Grantaire's thick curly hair that began to surface in his brain as his anger subsided; Enjolras threw himself at his desk and computer and feverishly began working on the mountain of homework he had to conquer that night.