learning how to breadth..

(Jisung’s POV)

I wait exactly three minutes after Minho disappears into the locker room before I move.

Not because I need time—because I need courage.

The starting block is cold when I slide off it, bare feet pressing against wet tiles. Lane three stretches out in front of me, impossibly long, a blue promise I’m not sure I can keep. The water ripples gently, innocent. Like it hasn’t been the reason my chest tightens since I was twelve.

“Stop being dramatic,” I mutter to myself.

I ease in instead of jumping. The cold wraps around my ankles, my calves, my knees. Every inch feels like a negotiation. By the time the water reaches my waist, my breathing is already too fast.

I force myself lower.

Chlorine burns my nose. The pool hums around me, quiet but alert. I grip the edge, knuckles whitening, and remind myself that I’m not sinking. I’m standing. I’m fine.

Lane three, Minho said.

Of course he swims in the middle. Balanced. Confident. Like he knows exactly where he belongs.

I push off gently, staying close to the wall, arms moving awkwardly. My form is terrible—I know that—but I keep going. One stroke. Then another. The water pulls at me, heavy and insistent, and my thoughts start to spiral.

What if I can’t breathe.

What if I panic.

What if I—

“Jisung.”

I jerk so hard I swallow water.

Coughing, spluttering, I grab the edge again. When I look up, Minho is standing there, towel around his neck, concern written plainly across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just—your breathing sounded off.”

Embarrassment crashes over me, hot and immediate. “Wow. Cool. Didn’t realize I was that loud.”

He crouches down so we’re closer to eye level. “You okay?”

I nod, then shake my head, then nod again. “Yeah. Just… rusty.”

He doesn’t call me out on the lie. I’m grateful for that.

“Can I help?” he asks.

The question is simple. Gentle. No pressure wrapped around it.

I hesitate. I’ve always hated needing help—especially with things that feel this basic. But the water presses against my chest, and for once, pretending feels harder than admitting the truth.

“I’m bad at this,” I say quietly. “Not the swimming part. The… breathing. Being under.”

Minho’s expression softens. Not pity. Understanding.

“Then we won’t go under,” he says. “Not today.”

Something about the certainty in his voice makes my shoulders drop. “Okay.”

He stands and steps into the pool with me, movements slower than before, careful. He stays an arm’s length away, close enough that I know he’s there, far enough that I don’t feel trapped.

“Watch me,” he says.

He demonstrates a simple rhythm—inhale, stroke, exhale—never fully submerging his head. He exaggerates the movements just enough for me to follow.

“Your lungs aren’t the enemy,” he adds. “They just panic when you stop listening to them.”

I snort. “Sounds like me.”

He smiles. “Exactly.”

We move together, slow laps, barely covering half the lane. My arms ache, my form collapses halfway through, but Minho doesn’t correct everything. Just the breathing. Always the breathing.

“In through your nose,” he reminds me. “Out through your mouth. Let the water carry the rest.”

And somehow… it does.

The pool doesn’t feel so deep anymore. My chest loosens. The tight coil of fear unwinds, just a little.

At the wall, I cling there, breathing hard but not panicked.

“You did good,” Minho says.

I laugh weakly. “That was… embarrassingly basic.”

“Basics keep you alive,” he replies. “Advanced stuff can wait.”

I look at him then—really look. His hair is damp again, eyes softer now that he’s not racing the clock. There’s patience there. And something else I can’t name yet.

“Thank you,” I say. “For not making it a thing.”

He shrugs. “Everyone’s got something they’re learning to breathe through.”

The words sink into me, heavier than the water.

We stay there for a moment, fingers gripping the same edge, our breaths slowly syncing without either of us trying.

Where our breaths meet underwater.

And for the first time, I think—maybe this pool isn’t where I’m going to drown.

Maybe it’s where I learn to stay.

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