“I… I don’t know,” I said at last. “I was just resting I guess.”
“Well, whatever you’ve been doing, keep it up. You swim like this at the meet, and we’re taking home gold.”
I hoisted myself out of the pool, water streaming down my body as my teammates patted me on the back. The pride that surged through me was different than before. It wasn’t about meeting expectations or proving myself. It was simply satisfaction in what I’d accomplished.
“Thanks, Coach,” I said, grabbing a towel and draping it over my shoulders.
“Seriously, Teddy,” she continued, her eyes bright with excitement. “I haven’t seen you swim with that kind of freedom since your freshman year. It’s like you’ve found your joy in it again.”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “Yeah, I guess maybe I have.”
As practice wrapped up and I headed to the locker room, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. Found my joy again. She was right. Somewhere along the way, swimming had become a burden, a means to an end rather than something I loved. But now, with the weight of my father’s expectationslessened, I’d remembered why I started swimming in the first place.
And I knew exactly when the shift had happened. It was the night Nerion showed me his world beneath the surface. The world I’d been a part of, but hadn’t stopped to appreciate in years. The world I’d let my father turn into one of his projects and suck the joy out of.
I showered quickly, throwing on clothes and heading out of the athletic building. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across campus as I walked, my hair still damp from the shower. Without thinking, my feet carried me toward the art building. I hadn’t planned on seeing Nerion today and we hadn’t made any arrangements. But suddenly I felt like I needed to, like he was calling to me.
The art building was quieter than usual, most classes having ended for the day. I climbed the stairs to the third floor where the painting studios were located, hoping Nerion might be working on one of his pieces. The hallway was lined with small rooms, each containing easels and work tables for the art students.
I peered through windows as I passed, looking for that familiar shock of red hair. When I finally spotted him in one of the studios near the end of the hall, my heart did that stupid little flip that I was becoming increasingly familiar with.
Nerion stood before a large canvas, brush in hand, completely absorbed in his work. He wore faded jeans splattered with paint and a thin white t-shirt that clung to his lean frame. His red hair was pulled back in a messy sort of top knot, with strands escaping to frame his face. The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows caught those loose strands, making them glow like fire.
He was so…beautiful.
I hesitated outside the door, suddenly unsure of myself. We were just friends with benefits, after all. Did friends with benefits make surprise visits? Would he think I was getting too attached?
Before I could decide whether to knock or walk away, Nerion looked up and saw me through the window. His face registered surprise for a moment before breaking into a smile that made my stomach tighten. He waved me in.
I pushed open the door, the smell of oil paints and turpentine hitting me as I entered. “Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was just passing by and thought I’d say hi.”
“Sure you were,” Nerion replied with a knowing smirk. He set down his brush and wiped his hands on a rag. “The athletic building is on the complete opposite side of campus.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “Okay, so maybe I wanted to see you.”
Nerion’s expression softened, but there was a guarded caution in his eyes. However, it quickly passed before it was replaced by his usual cocky smirk. “Well, you’re seeing me. Like what you see?”
He struck an exaggerated pose, and I laughed, the tension broken. “Always,” I admitted.
“I’ve been working on a new piece this week,” he said, turning back to his canvas. “You’re welcome to hang out and talk if you want, but I’m kind of in the zone right now.”
“Of course,” I said. “Don’t stop on my account.”
He nodded, picking up his brush once more. Meanwhile, I snuck around behind him, moving closer to see what he was working on. The painting was breathtaking. It was a storm-tossed sea beneath a turbulent sky. The waves were rendered in deep blues and greens, with whitecaps that seemed to leap off the canvas. The sky above was a dramatic swirl of grays and purples, with a single shaft of golden light breaking through theclouds to illuminate a small patch of sea, transforming it from stormy blue to an almost emerald glow.
“This is incredible,” I breathed, genuinely awestruck. I’d never paid much attention to art before, but there was something about Nerion’s paintings that always captivated me. The way he captured the water’s movement made it look alive.
“Thanks,” he said, not looking away from his work. His brush moved in confident strokes as he added more texture to one of the waves. “I’ve been dreaming about this scene for weeks now.”
I watched him work for a few minutes, mesmerized by the deft movements of his hands and the intensity of his focus. There was something intimate about seeing him like this, completely absorbed in creation. It was a different side of him than the cocky, flirtatious guy I’d come to know.
“Does it represent something?” I asked, moving to lean against a nearby table. “The storm, I mean.”
Nerion paused, his brush hovering over the canvas. For a moment, I thought he might not answer. Then he sighed softly.
“It’s a place I love,” he said simply. “Or at least, what I remember of it.”
“The ocean?”