The evening was perfect—stars shimmering, the pool’s surface smooth as glass. Until, of course, she decided to test if he cared like he used to. Just her normal mood swings.

With a dramatic inhale, she leaped into the water. The splash echoed through the silent backyard.

"Help!" she flailed, sinking, waiting for him to ~~panic.~~

And he did. Oh, he did.

“Damn it, woman!” Lysander Voltaire ~~ripped~~ off his blazer like some action hero—Rolex flying, shoes abandoned—before launching himself into the water.

One problem.

He. Couldn’t. Swim. Either.

The second he hit the water, he went straight under. No grace. No control. Just instant regret.

She popped up first, coughing. “Wait—”

"Shut up!" ~~SMACK!~~ His palm landed on her head as he resurfaced, spluttering. “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU JUMP IF YOU CAN’T SWIM?!”

She gawked. “WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU CAN’T SWIM?!”

For a few seconds, it was just pure chaos—both of them thrashing, splashing, and sinking at alarming speeds. Somewhere on the pool deck, a lifeguard was already facepalming.

“WE’RE GONNA ~~DIE~~!” she wailed dramatically, clutching at Lysander, who was no better off.

“NO, WE’RE NOT—STOP PULLING ME DOWN—”

“THEN HOLD ME UP!”

“I CAN’T EVEN HOLD MYSELF UP—”

Before she could completely perish from her own stupidity, a strong arm hooked around her waist. Another grabbed Lysander.

The lifeguard, looking deeply unimpressed, dragged both of them back to the edge like two wet, oversized cats.

As soon as she was dumped onto the poolside, coughing up water and pride, Lysander turned to her, dripping and breathless.

“You’re never allowed near a pool again.”

“You jumped in too!” she shot back, trying to lament her stupidity.

He let out a long, suffering sigh before ~~smacking~~ her on the head—loud, firm, and deeply frustrated.

“Shut up.”