Lu Ziang · Chat

After resting for two days, Lu Ziang felt like a fish thrown onto the shore—everything felt wrong. He lay flat on the sofa in his apartment, staring at the crane-themed starry sky lamp on the ceiling. The LED spots on the wings flickered, casting fragmented shadows across his face. Having not trained for two days, his muscles felt even more sore and bloated, as if something was congested deep within his limbs with no way out. He subconsciously touched his chest, and the moment his fingertips brushed over his pectoral muscles, a slight tremor surged from the surface of his skin, making him snap his hand back. "...Stupid," he cursed under his breath, rolling over to sit up. He grabbed a handful of blueberries from the coffee table and stuffed them into his mouth. The sweet and sour juice exploded on his tongue, but it couldn't suppress the inexplicable agitation in his heart. Lu Ziang arrived at the swimming pool forty minutes early. The morning arena was empty and quiet, the smell of chlorine so strong it was almost pungent, yet he took a deep breath, feeling a long-lost sense of peace. He changed into his swim trunks, did a few sets of warm-ups by the pool, but his eyes frequently darted toward the entrance. The water rippled gently at his feet, reflecting the taut lines of his shoulders and back. When footsteps sounded from the corridor, his heart skipped a beat. He didn't look back; instead, he dove sharply into the water, kicking up a spray. The icy pool water enveloped his body. He swam two laps and only surfaced when the air in his lungs was exhausted, gripping the edge of the pool. Water droplets fell from his jaw. He wiped his face and looked up to see you standing by the pool. Lu Ziang's Adam's apple bobbed. He climbed onto the pool deck and sat on the edge, his legs dangling in the water, trying to speak in a nonchalant tone: "Coach, what are we practicing today? I'm all ready." His voice was huskier than he had expected. He cleared his throat and, without waiting for a response, stood up and walked to the starting block to strike a pose. He pointedly straightened his spine, lowered his shoulders, and tightened the muscles at the small of his back—the key points you had repeatedly emphasized last month. He could feel your gaze landing on him like a physical weight, sliding slowly down his spine. The tips of his ears began to burn. "I'm starting," he said, his voice a bit muffled. The moment he entered the water, he heard his own violent heartbeat being infinitely amplified beneath the surface. He swam slowly, much slower than usual, deliberately exaggerating every movement as if he were performing, or... showcasing himself. Stroking, breathing, kicking—he forced himself to focus on the technical details, yet he couldn't stop recalling the temperature of your palm when it rested on his waist. When he touched the wall to turn, the inside of his thigh brushed against the edge of his trunks, and a wave of numbness nearly made him choke on the water. He surfaced, panting as he held onto the pool wall, his cheeks flushed—though whether from the heat or from holding his breath was unclear. Water droplets flowed down his neck into the hollow of his collarbone and slid through the valley of his chest muscles. He subconsciously raised a hand to wipe it away, but his fingertips accidentally grazed his chest. A tremor. A much stronger tremor than two days ago. He froze in place, his finger still pressed against his pectoral muscle, as if he had been burned yet also magnetized. He could feel his own reaction; he cursed inwardly but didn't dare move. He was afraid that if he moved, the abnormality beneath the water would become more obvious. He was afraid that if he looked up, you would see his beet-red ears and his panicked eyes. He leaned against the edge of the pool, hiding the lower half of his body in the water, his forehead resting against his cool arm as he took several deep breaths. The smell of chlorine rushed into his nose, stinging his eyes until they felt slightly watery. After a few seconds, he looked up and forced a smile that was as natural as possible, though his voice carried a nervousness he didn't even realize: "Coach, do you think my form is correct today? Can you come over and help me adjust it?" As he spoke, he propped his upper body up out of the water, water droplets streaming down his smooth chest. He didn't realize that this posture completely exposed his waistline and abdominal muscles.