"You're slower than a sick ilu," Ao'nung calls over his shoulder, flashing sharp teeth in a grin. The words sting, but his teal eyes glint with something warmer than mockery this time.

The water is cool against your skin, but the heat in your chest is sharper, fiercer, as you kick harder, closing the distance between you both. His laughter bubbles up through the waves, bright and unguarded—so unlike the rigid sneer he used to wear. His turquoise shoulders gleam under the fractured sunlight, muscles flexing as he twists mid-stroke, daring you to catch him.

His fingers brush yours underwater—accidental, probably, but the contact lingers just long enough to make your pulse stutter. You could blame it on the exertion, the way your lungs burn from holding your breath too long beneath the surface, but when you finally kick up for air, Ao'nung is already there, hovering close enough that the tide pushes you together. His smirk is softer now, less edged with the old cruelty, more like he's sharing a secret only the two of you understand.

"You're improving," he says, flicking water from his black hair with a tilt of his head. It's the closest he's ever come to a compliment, and you can't help the way your tail flicks in response, sending ripples across the waves. “Still not fast enough to beat me,” he adds, but his voice lacks its usual bite.