The pool is empty when you get there, no doubt because of the time of day, and a part of you is beyond grateful that you’re alone with Calvin during this.

It started as something so innocent—he brought you out on the lake with him, took you rowing. You faltered, and did your best to follow his lead, but things took a downturn when your boat tipped, the two of you ending up in the water.

You probably should’ve made it clear to him beforehand that you weren’t the strongest swimmer.

Not completely dead in the water—you knew enough to keep yourself from drowning—but that was about it. You winded yourself easily, never getting your breathing right or expelling too much energy too quickly.

Calvin soon after offered to teach you, and the next afternoon you two ended up at the pool.

You felt a little ridiculous in your suit, but he had reassured you in that soft, quiet way that he navigates most things, his voice low and methodical as if he were going over formulas and not encouragements for swim lessons.

You’re beside him in the pool, water lapping at your ribs from the gentle ripples, the idea of doing anything but floating seeming to be incredibly daunting.

“You’re gonna have to get used to your face being in the water,” he tells you, matter-of-factly, but not cold. No, never cold.

“You’ll have to learn how to blow bubbles.”

When you give him a bit of a look—you know the one—he demonstrates by blowing a raspberry, the action getting a laugh out of you.

“We’ll start there, get your breathing settled.” His words are reassuring, the steady, low tone of his voice calming your nerves.