It was all very simple.

A hug here.

A touch there.

They were the best of friends, and the best of rivals. In the pool and out of the pool, they were friendly and supportive of each other. In the pool and out of the pool, they were pitted against each other time and time again; different countries, different teams.

But away from all that, away from the flashbulbs and the fans and the prying eyes, it was a different story altogether.

******

Michael Phelps plodded slowly along the beach, barefoot with his sandals in his left hand, his feet leaving footprints in the damp sand. It was so rare that he had time to himself that he was thrilled to be able to do nothing. But something was missing. He glanced at his watch.

Ian was late.

They were supposed to meet here ten minutes ago. Where could he be? Michael stopped walking and stared out at the Aegean Sea. He sank slowly to the sand and rested his chin on his right knee. Although he was disappointed that Ian was late, he figured there was a good reason. Plus it gave him some time to think.

The big deal about their rivalry was really rather ridiculous. They�d said over and over that they were friends. They were excited to race each other in the 200m free. They were excited to be on opposing teams in the relays. They were seen together, hanging out like the best friends they were, at parties and other events, especially in the swimming world. They put on masks for the world, however. Friendly and good friends, but not too good. They were, after all, from completely different countries going for the same gold medals, the same world records, and the same titles. So while they were friends, they were still rivals. And good rivals at that. They congratulated each other, but when they were in the pool it was every man for himself.

Their private lives translated very little, if at all, into their daily �for everyone else� routine.

Michael felt a presence behind him. �You�re late.�

A tall blond, dressed in a white T-shirt with sunglasses perched on top of his head, sat down in the sand next to him. �I�m sorry. Fans. You know.�

Michael nodded. They sat in silence for a minute. �Ian,� he said, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the water.

�Yes?� Ian said, his gaze following much the same path that Michael�s were.

�I saw my mother today,� Michael said quietly, without much affliction.

�Oh?� Ian asked noncommittally.

�I told her.�

�Told her what?�

Michael finally looked at the man sitting next to him. He crossed his arms over his knees and rested his cheek there. �You know.�

Ian turned his head to look at the younger man next to him. �I know,� he assured him. �And?�

�She�s fine.�

Ian let out a small smile and a breath he didn�t know he�d been holding. He was trying to be cool about this whole thing, but it was a lot harder than he thought it would be. �Good.�

Both men turned back to look at the Sea. Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Ian beat him to it. �We don�t have to talk, you know.�

�I know. I just wanted to tell you that I love you.�

Ian smiled and reached out for Michael�s hand. He squeezed it, but didn�t say anything. He didn�t have to.