That's when I see him.
In the pool.
I freeze, watching him cut through the water with powerful strokes. Lap after lap, his form perfect, his movement fluid and controlled.
He's using the pool. The pool he told me he never used before I arrived.
I watch him reach the far end, execute a perfect turn, and push off again. Whatever is happening between us didn't just affect me. It affected him enough that he's breaking his own patterns, using spaces he's ignored.
I should leave him alone. Should give him this space to process.
But I find myself changing into my swimsuit anyway.
He doesn't notice me at first. He's too focused on his laps, on whatever thoughts are driving him through the water. I stand at the edge of the pool for a moment, just watching.
Then I dive in.
The water closes over my head, cool and clean, washing away some of the tension I've been carrying. When I surface, he's stopped at the far end, treading water, watching me with those dark eyes that see too much.
We stare at each other across the length of the pool. The silence stretches, loaded with everything we're not saying.
Then I start swimming.
Not toward him. Not away from him. Just parallel, cutting through the water in my own rhythm. Finding my own meditation in the physical movement.
After a few laps, I'm aware of him moving again too. We swim like that for a while. Separate but together, sharing the space without acknowledging what it means.
Eventually, I stop at the shallow end, catching my breath. He's treading water in the deep end, maintaining that careful distance we've established.
"You're swimming," I say, stating the obvious because I don't know how else to acknowledge what I saw.
"Seemed like a waste not to use it. You were right about that."
"I didn't think you listened to me about wasted amenities."
"I listen to everything you say." He swims a bit closer, but not too close. Still maintaining the space between us. "Even the small things."
Especially the small things, his expression says.
I float on my back, staring up at the sky. "It's a good pool. You should use it more."
"Maybe I will."
The simple agreement feels like more than it is. Like he's saying he'll keep changing, keep trying to be someone different than who he was.
"You're a strong swimmer," he observes after a moment.
"My mother insisted on lessons. Said it was a necessary life skill." I right myself, treading water. "She was big on necessary life skills."
"Sounds like she and my mother would have gotten along."
"Maybe. Though I doubt they would have moved in the same circles." I swim to the edge, resting my arms on the stone. "Your mother cleaned houses. Mine hosted charity galas in them."
"Different worlds."
"Yes." I watch him float nearby, his body relaxed in the water in a way it rarely is on land. "But here we are anyway."
"Here we are," he agrees quietly.
