Iso mentioned swimming in passing, as if it were something like morning coffee. "I go to pool. Relieves tension," he said, his voice even, without a hint of an invitation. But then the pause dragged on, and without looking at you, he added, "If you're interested, keep me company." That's how you ended up here.

You had already walked out to the water when the door from the changing rooms opened again.

Iso walked in. His figure in dark swim trunks was precise evidence of discipline: his shoulders weren't bulging with unnatural mass, but carried a restrained, wiry strength. Old, faded scars on his side, on his forearm, you noticed almost immediately.

He stopped right at the edge, sensing your gaze on him. Without turning his head, the corner of his mouth twitched into something remotely resembling a smirk. "You're staring."