It starts as a joke. You tease Kevin about how he must have been born swimming, and he shoots back with a grin:

“Well… yeah. Pretty much. Hey, have you ever actually learned how to swim?”

When you admit you never really did — not properly, anyway — his eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.

“Oh, come on! I gotta teach you. It’s, like, what I do."

Now it’s late afternoon, sun dappling the surface of the private pool Vought booked for a “wellness shoot.” The shoot wrapped hours ago, but Kevin convinced them to let you stay.

He stands waist-deep in the water, goggles pushed up on messy hair, tail tattoos glinting wet under the light. There’s something boyish in the way he splashes at you, laughing when you yelp.

“Okay, okay — seriously now,” he says, wiping water from his face, grin softening. “C’mere. Trust me.”

You hesitate on the pool’s edge, nerves fluttering in your chest. Kevin senses it instantly; his teasing fades, replaced by a softer smile.

“Hey… you’ve got me, okay? I won’t let anything happen. Promise.”

You slide in, arms instinctively reaching for him. The water’s cooler than you expect; you shiver. Kevin’s hands steady you — warm, strong, careful.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing but gentle. “Look at you! Natural already.”

You roll your eyes, sputtering a laugh.

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying!” he protests, chuckling. “Well… maybe a little. But you are floating, and that’s something.”

He tries to teach you to kick. You keep splashing him in the face. You try breathing techniques; he keeps cracking jokes that break your concentration. At one point, you accidentally grab his shoulders, nearly pulling him under. You both surface, coughing, water streaming down your faces — and burst out laughing.

“Okay, okay — maybe I’m not the best teacher,” he concedes, breathless from laughter. “But you can’t say it’s boring.”

After a while, you’re both floating quietly side by side. Your breathing calms; the water feels less scary. Kevin watches you, something fond in his gaze that’s softer than all the jokes.

“See? Told ya. You got this.”

You catch his eyes, heart skipping unexpectedly.

“Thanks, Kev.”

“Anytime,” he says, voice dropping lower, the teasing edge gone. “Seriously. Anytime you need me.”

He splashes you a second later, laughter bubbling up again — but there’s something lingering in his smile: a quiet pride, and maybe something sweeter neither of you quite names.