But he stayed close.
Not sexual.
Not performative.
Just there.
A shoulder against mine.
His thigh braced lightly to mine in the freezing water.
His arm where I could hold it without embarrassment because that’s what cold plunge is, at its core—group suffering.
After the initial shock passed, something strange happened.
Stillness.
The pain became clarity.
The ache in my muscles sharpened, then receded.
My skin buzzed.
My lungs opened.
I turned my face toward him.
His hair was damp at the temples now, dark eyes bright from the adrenaline of the cold.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said.
He glanced at me.
“For what?”
“For being good at this.”
One brow lifted.
“Sitting in freezing water?”
“For taking care of me like this.”
His face changed then.
Quietly.
The joke fell out of it.
The ease softened.
He reached over and tucked one wet strand of hair back from my cheek.
“You make it easy.”
My whole chest went warm in water cold enough to kill bacteria.
I looked away first.
