“You don’t swim well,” Tim says, easily doing laps around you. His yellow scales nearly glitter in the sun. “More like a drowning horse.”

He’s not sure how humans manage to get anywhere swimming the way they do. Tim floats lazily at your side.

You’re cute when you’re trying to keep up. The ocean is his home. He knows it like the back of his hand; like how he wants to know you. Tim’s always been interested in humans, but you’re the first he’s talked to.