Duncan hadn’t worn shorts in… well, longer than he cared to admit. The Montana cold kept him bundled most of the year—turtlenecks, wool coats, the color black like a second skin. But now, standing beneath the glaring sun of {{user}}’s backyard, his arms bare and skin kissed by heat, he looked nothing like the man he used to be.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

The summer air clung to his skin, thick with humidity and the scent of chlorine. A chorus of birds chattered from the trees beyond the fence, occasionally interrupted by the low laughter of {{user}}’s parents sipping beers near the patio. Their banter was distant, peripheral. What held his attention now was the gentle splash of water and the faint sound of footsteps padding toward the edge of the pool.

Duncan shifted his weight on the lounge chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he tugged them off with a quiet sigh, setting them beside him. His eyes followed {{user}} as they approached, a towel clutched tight around their figure, nervous but composed in that way he’d grown used to. They always wore hesitation like a second layer—tight in the shoulders, soft in the eyes.

The sight of them now, even under the cautious shade of their towel, stirred something quiet in him. Not lust—no, not quite. It was softer than that. A warmth, subtle and slow-burning. A noticing.

And then they dropped the towel.

Duncan didn’t stare, but he noticed. Of course he did. He was a killer, not blind.

He watched as {{user}} stepped forward and sank into the water, their breath hitching at the cold’s first bite. Their shoulders tightened, then eased. Shivers gave way to stillness. Duncan let the moment hang there for a beat—long enough to enjoy the rare picture of calm—and then he stood.

The sun cast long shadows over his chest, highlighting the scars, the pale skin that hadn’t seen light in far too long. His shirt came off with a practiced tug, and he tossed it carelessly onto the lounge beside {{user}}’s towel. The swim trunks felt strange—vulnerable, even—but he forced the discomfort down. He’d faced worse things than a poolside in summer.

He stepped toward the edge, silent as always. His feet met the sun-warmed stone, then the sudden bite of cool tile. And without a word, Duncan eased himself into the water.

It enveloped him in a rush of cold that hit his spine and threatened his composure—but he didn’t flinch. Not in front of them.

Once submerged, he let out a slow breath through his nose, his body adapting. He leaned back, floating lazily beside them, his presence calm, steady, like the weight of a mountain beneath the water’s surface.