I didn’t give her time to second-guess herself.
I stepped forward and kissed her.
Right there in the hallway, chlorine and adrenaline and noise were bleeding around us while I anchored myself to the one thing that felt steady.
She made a soft sound of surprise before kissing me back, fingers curling into the front of my hoodie like she needed proof I was real.
I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead against hers.
My heart was still racing, but not the way it didbefore a race. This wasn’t adrenaline begging to burn off. It was something steadier. Something that made me want to stay instead of surge forward.
I’d won today and made it to Worlds with my body.
But this felt like choosing something with my whole self.
“So,” I murmured. “This is us choosing chaos, right?”
Her breath shook out in a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. You thrive on chaos.”
“I do not.”
She tilted her head. “Ledger, your job is voluntarily jumping into a pool and suffering for fun.”
“Okay, rude. But fair.”
Her smile softened, and she brushed her thumb along my jaw. “You’re sure about this?”
The question mattered. I could hear it in her voice. The vulnerability underneath the bravado.
I covered her hand with mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. But just so you know—I’m still going to argue with you.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“And you know I don’t do well with swimmer schedules.”
“Worlds training schedules,” I corrected.
She rolled her eyes. “See? Already insufferable.”
I grinned. “You like me.”
She smiled back. “I really do.”
We stood there for another beat, letting it settle. Letting ourselves exist in the truth of it.
“Come on,” I said finally. “Let’s go home.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Homehome?”
“Our home,” I said, without hesitation.
The word didn’t feel fake or pretend like it once had.
It didn’t feel like a responsibility or a risk calculation. It felt like a decision. One I was making with my eyes open.
Something warm spread across her face, and she nodded. “Okay.”
