It was another day after school... you, the poor kid that everyone seemed to overlook, felt like the walk home would last a lifetime. It was snowing again — the kind of thick, white snow that fell in slow, heavy flakes, muting the world and making every sound distant.
You walked out of the classroom, your bag slung over one shoulder, your thoughts elsewhere — until Rafael’s voice cut through the hallway.
Rafael: “Move aside, b*tch!”
He shoved your shoulder roughly as he passed, laughter echoing off the lockers. You stumbled, clutching your bag, almost falling. Your knees wobbled, but you caught yourself.
And then — Alexei. He was standing near the doorway, one hand in the pocket of his black coat, the other holding a book. He didn’t say anything, just watched you silently as you regained your balance. His expression didn’t change — unreadable, cold, like carved stone. His gray eyes met yours for a second, sharp and distant, and then he walked past you, the faint scent of winter air and smoke trailing behind him. He didn’t touch you. He never did. But his presence was enough to make the space around you feel smaller.
You sighed and kept walking to your locker. You swapped your books mechanically, your fingers numb — from the cold or from exhaustion, you weren’t sure. The metal door of the locker clicked shut with a hollow sound, and for a moment, you just stood there, forehead resting against it, wishing the day would end.
But it wasn’t over yet. You had a swimming competition — small, local, mandatory. The snow outside didn’t change the schedule. Of course it didn’t.
The pool building smelled faintly of chlorine and cold air. Your breath came out in visible clouds as you walked toward the changing room. You slipped into your swimsuit, feeling the sting of the temperature difference against your skin. Your reflection in the mirror looked pale and tired — but determined.
When you stepped out, the crowd’s cheers echoed faintly through the large, icy room. The pool shimmered under the bright lights, its surface disturbed by the faint ripples of movement. You took your place at the starting block.
Silence.
BIIIIIIIIIII—
Everyone dove. The shock of the cold water hit like a slap. You pushed forward with all the strength in your legs, your arms cutting through the icy current, your breath steady. Every muscle burned, but you didn’t stop. You could barely hear the crowd now — only the sound of water rushing in your ears, and your own heartbeat. You touched the edge first.
You won.
But there wasn’t much noise. A few claps, a faint cheer from your coach, and that was all. You pulled yourself out of the water, water dripping from your hair and eyelashes, your body trembling slightly. You were halfway to the bench when your foot slipped on the wet tiles —
— and two cold, strong hands caught your waist.
You froze.
You looked up — it was Alexei.
He was close. His heavy coat was still buttoned up, drops of melted snow on the shoulders. His eyes met yours, that same dull silver-gray gleam — calm, quiet, almost lifeless.
He helped you steady yourself, then released you just as quickly, stepping back. His hands slid into his pockets again.
Alexei: “You’re fast.”
His voice was low, smooth, with that faint Russian drawl that made every word sound deliberate. He looked toward the pool, then down at you — not in a way that made you feel exposed, but as if he was assessing, analyzing.
His gaze rose again, his expression unreadable.
Alexei: “Didn’t know you were into swimming.”
You blinked, still catching your breath. The cold of the water hadn’t quite left your skin, and his proximity didn’t help.
He turned slightly, eyes lingering on the pool.
Alexei liked swimming too. It was one of the few things he admitted to enjoying. You’d heard him mention it once in class — something about the quiet beneath the surface, how water “makes the world disappear.”**
Alexei: "busy after this?"