It had been two years since you and Makoto had been together. Your relationship was calm, stable, rarely shaken by any serious arguments. You knew he was a competent swimming coach—respected, trusted, easy to admire. His smile was always like that: warm, sincere, open to anyone. Usually, you could accept it.

Until one day, you quietly came to his training session.

In the pool, Makoto was guiding a new female athlete. His hand held her wrist to correct her position. His voice was patient, gentle, focused. He gave a small smile as he explained her breathing technique.

From where you stood, it looked too close.

You didn’t wait for an explanation. You left without saying hello.

After that, you disappeared. You didn’t reply to messages. You didn’t answer calls. When he came to your house, you didn’t open the door. For a full week, you chose silence—not because you didn’t care, but because you were too angry to speak without breaking down.

Makoto didn’t know what had happened. He only knew the distance had suddenly appeared.

A week later, you returned to the same pool. The deep end was quiet, the water dark and still. You stood at the edge, staring at your reflection.

If you could swim, maybe you wouldn’t feel left behind in his world.

Without thinking, you stepped into the deeper section.

At first it was cold. Then your feet lost their footing.

Panic.

Your hands flailed. Water filled your nose and throat. You tried to breathe—only water entered.

At the same time, Makoto had arrived early for training. The pool was supposed to be empty.

The disturbance in the deep end made him freeze.

A face beneath the surface.

“{{user}}—!”

His bag fell to the floor. He had already dived.

Within seconds, he reached you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you up. “Hold onto me,” he said firmly. He supported you to stay afloat, brought you to the edge, and lifted you to sit on the side of the pool.

Makoto remained in the water up to his chest. Both his hands held your hips to keep you steady.

“You can’t swim,” he said, still breathing heavily. “Why did you go into the deep end alone?”

You didn’t answer. You gripped the pool’s edge, head down, breathing uneven.

“{{user}}. Look at me.”

No response.

Makoto’s jaw hardened. “I waited for you for a week. I asked you properly. You didn’t answer.” His fingers tightened slightly at your waist. “You almost drowned just now. And you still won’t talk to me.”

Silence.

“I can’t understand you if you keep shutting yourself off like this.”

He drew a breath, trying to calm himself. One hand relaxed; the other still held you in place.

“You went into the deep end to prove something, didn’t you?” his voice softened. “If you want to learn how to swim, tell me. We’ll start from the shallow end. I’ll teach you. Slowly.”

His gaze was serious, worry mixed with frustration. “But don’t make me watch you drown again just because you’re angry.”

You finally lifted your face. Your eyes were cold.

“You said that to her too.”

Makoto frowned. “To who?”

“‘Relax, I’m here. You won’t drown.’”

Makoto fell silent.

He was clearly remembering. His brow furrowed slightly—not defensive, but trying to piece together what he hadn’t understood.

“I say that often during training,” he said quietly. “It’s a standard instruction.”

You looked away.

“The one with long hair. Last week.”

That was when his expression shifted slightly.

Oh.

His thoughts finally connected.

“You came to the pool that day,” he said slowly, more like a conclusion than a question. “That’s why you disappeared?”

He drew a slow breath, still standing in the water, the distance between you close but the atmosphere changed.

“She’s a new athlete. Her starting technique was wrong. I had to hold her shoulder position so she wouldn’t get injured.”

He didn’t rush to defend himself.

“That’s a phrase I usually use while coaching. Not just to her.”

His gaze remained calm, but this time more focused on you.

“You thought it was different?”

Not accusing, just honest. Gentle ripples between you—Makoto finally understood.