keeping the pace..

(Minho’s POV)

I tell myself I’m only staying because I still have cooldown laps to finish.

That’s a lie.

Jisung clings to the edge of lane three like it might drift away if he lets go. He’s breathing steadily now—still uneven, but real. Progress. I pretend to focus on stretching my shoulders while keeping him in my peripheral vision.

He doesn’t notice at first.

Good. Pressure ruins things.

“You’re thinking too loud,” I say casually.

He jumps again. I swear it’s becoming a talent. “I—what?”

I grin. “Your face. It scrunches when you overthink. Very expressive.”

“That’s rude,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.

“Honest,” I correct. “Also kind of impressive. Coaches would kill for that level of transparency.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing off the wall for another short lap. His strokes are still messy, timing off, but he doesn’t freeze anymore. That matters more.

I swim beside him, deliberately slower this time.

“Relax your shoulders,” I say. “You’re fighting the water.”

“I don’t trust it,” he replies.

“Water doesn’t need your trust,” I shrug. “It wins either way.”

He snorts despite himself.

We reach the wall together. He grips it, breathing hard. I don’t comment. Instead, I lean back against the tiles, arms resting on the edge, watching the ceiling lights ripple.

“You always this bossy?” he asks.

“Only before breakfast,” I answer. “After that, I charge.”

That gets a real laugh out of him—short, surprised. I count it as a win.

There’s something oddly grounding about teaching without trying to fix everything. I’ve spent most of my life chasing seconds, chasing perfection. With Jisung, the goal is simpler: don’t panic. Keep breathing. Stay afloat.

“You coming tomorrow?” I ask, like it’s no big deal.

He hesitates. Of course he does. Then nods. “Yeah. I think… yeah.”

I glance at him. “Good. Lane three’s mine, though.”

He smirks. “Didn’t realize lanes had owners.”

“They do when you swim fast enough,” I say, then add lightly, “You can borrow it. Supervised.”

“Wow. Generous,” he deadpans.

I push off the wall, swimming a slow lap, letting the water settle my thoughts. When I surface, he’s watching again—but this time, not like he’s afraid of what he’s seeing.

That’s enough for today.

“Don’t overdo it,” I tell him as I climb out. “You did better than you think.”

He looks up at me, eyes clearer than yesterday. “You say that to everyone?”

I pause, then smirk. “No. You’re just special.”

He groans. “You did not just say that.”

I toss my towel over my shoulder, already walking away. “Get used to it, Scrunchy-Face.”

His protest echoes after me, half-annoyed, half-amused.

No romance. No complications.

Just water, breathing, and a pace that finally feels right.

I don’t slow down when he calls after me.

“Scrunchy-face is not a nickname,” Jisung says loudly.

I lift a hand in acknowledgment without turning around. “Give it time.”

By the time I reach the lockers, I can still hear him muttering to himself. It’s… oddly satisfying. Not in a cruel way. More like I’ve nudged something loose and it didn’t break.

I shower quickly, the water hot enough to sting. My muscles unwind, but my mind doesn’t. It keeps circling back to lane three, to the way Jisung’s breathing finally evened out when he stopped watching the water like it might betray him.

Most people fight water with force. He fights it with thoughts.

When I step back out, hair damp, towel hanging loose around my neck, he’s sitting on the bench tying his shoes. Still wet. Still stubbornly present.

“You didn’t leave,” I note.

He shrugs without looking up. “Didn’t feel like rushing.”

“Careful,” I say. “Next thing you know, you’ll start enjoying mornings.”

He glances up at me. “Don’t push it.”

I smirk and sit a few feet away, giving him space. Silence settles—not awkward, just there. The kind you don’t feel pressured to fill.

“You swim competitions?” he asks suddenly.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Too many.”

“Do you like it?”

The question catches me off guard. Most people assume the answer.

“I like the water,” I say after a moment. “The rest is… noise.”