crush..?

(Jisung’s POV)

I’ve always liked pools before they’re loud.

Before whistles and splashes and the way people pretend not to stare at each other. Early morning pools feel honest. The water doesn’t perform. It just waits.

I sit on the starting block with my towel slipping off one shoulder, feet dangling inches above the surface. The air smells like chlorine and sleep deprivation. I tell myself I’m only here to think—to let my head quiet down—but my eyes keep drifting to the same place.

Lane three.

He moves like the water belongs to him.

I don’t know his name yet, but I know the shape of his breathing. I know the way his shoulders break the surface for half a second before disappearing again. Each lap is clean, deliberate, like he’s erasing something with every turn.

I count without meaning to.

One. Two. Three.

By the fifth lap, my chest feels tight, like I’m the one holding my breath. By the tenth, I realize I’ve been staring.

So I look away.

The windows along the pool reflect a washed-out dawn, pale blue bleeding into grey. Somewhere, a door creaks open and shuts again. The building is waking up slowly, reluctantly. I pull my towel tighter around myself and try to remember why I came so early.

I told myself it was for practice.

I lied.

The truth is, water scares me in a quiet way. Not panic, not drowning nightmares—just the way it demands something from you. Breath. Control. Trust. I’ve never been good at giving any of those away.

A splash snaps me back.

Lane three turns sharp at the wall, water spraying higher than before. He’s closer now. Close enough that I can see the tension in his jaw when he surfaces, the way he exhales hard before going under again.

There’s something lonely about it.

Not sad—just focused. Like he’s racing something no one else can see.

I wonder what it feels like to be that certain of your body. To let it carry you without arguing back.

When he finally stops, it surprises me.

He grips the edge of the pool and stays there for a second, head down, wet hair dripping. I look away instinctively, like I’ve caught him doing something private. My fingers fidget with the frayed edge of my towel.

Footsteps echo.

I risk another glance.

He’s climbing out now, water streaming off his arms, breathing steady but deep. Up close, he looks sharper somehow—taller than I expected, eyes dark and focused even when he’s clearly tired.

He reaches for a bottle. Takes a drink.

Then—unfortunately for my nerves—he looks straight at me.

We lock eyes.

It’s not dramatic. No sparks, no lightning. Just a moment where the world narrows down to chlorine air and the sound of my own heartbeat thudding too loud in my ears.

I should look away.

I don’t.

His expression shifts—not annoyed, not curious. Just… aware. Like he’s been noticed for the first time all morning and isn’t sure what to do with it.

“Morning,” he says.

His voice is lower than I expect. Calm. Like the water.

“Oh—uh. Morning.” I clear my throat. Why do I always sound like I’ve been caught trespassing? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

He blinks, then huffs a quiet laugh. “It’s fine. You’re not exactly subtle, though.”

Heat crawls up my neck. “Yeah. That tracks.”

There’s a pause. An awkward, floating kind of silence. I swing my legs slightly, toes skimming the water.

“You swim?” he asks, nodding at my feet.

“Trying to,” I admit. “Thinking about it counts, right?”

He smiles—not wide, not teasing. Just a small curve of his mouth that makes something in my chest loosen. “Only if you eventually get in.”

I glance down at the pool. The water looks deeper than it is. It always does. “Maybe later.”

He studies me for a second, then holds out his hand. “Minho.”

I stare at it, then at his face, like I’m making sure this is real. Then I take it.

“Jisung.”

His hand is warm. Solid. The kind of grip that doesn’t rush you.

We let go too quickly.

“Lane three’s free,” he says, gesturing behind him. “If you decide to stop thinking and start swimming.”

I laugh under my breath. “I’ll… consider the offer.”

Minho nods, grabbing his towel. As he walks past, the air feels different—charged, like the moment right before you dive in.

I watch the ripples settle where he was.

And for the first time, the water doesn’t look like something that wants to swallow me whole.

It looks like an invitation.

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