The indoor pool is loud—whistles, splashing water, people chanting names you can barely hear over your own heartbeat. The air smells like chlorine, cold and sharp, and your eyes are fixed on lane one.

Keonho stands at the edge of the pool, shoulders loose but jaw tight, goggles hanging around his neck as he rolls his shoulders once. When he looks up into the stands, his gaze pauses—just for a second—right where you’re sitting.

He exhales, then gives a small nod, like yeah, I see you.

The announcer’s voice booms through the speakers. “Swimmers, take your positions.”

Keonho steps onto the block, focused now, all the noise fading out as he puts on his goggles and bends forward. The crowd quiets. Your hands clench together without you realizing.

BEEP.

He dives into the water, clean and fast, cutting through the pool like he was made for it.

From the stands, you lean forward, eyes locked on him as he pulls ahead—stroke after stroke, powerful and precise.

After a moment, the aquatic center explodes into sound the moment Keonho touches the wall, you cheered along.

First place.

The scoreboard flashes his name at the very top, numbers glowing beside it. AHN KEONHO #1 and for a second he just stays there—hands gripping the edge of the pool, chest heaving, water dripping from his hair and lashes. It takes a heartbeat for it to sink in.

———

Later, after the medals and interviews, you find your boyfriend near the locker rooms, hair still dripping, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He looks different up close—less like an athlete on a podium, more like someone who pushed himself past his limit.