Work Text:
"But where did you put your clothes while you were swimming? In the dirt?!"
Czerny takes a deep breath that smells too much of chlorine and reminds himself that it is not entirely Ebenholz's fault for being so sheltered. "There was plenty of grass on the riverbank. We'd leave our clothes there, or sometimes on a towel if anyone remembered to bring one along. Though most children relish the opportunity to play in the dirt, you know."
Ebenholz's lips curl at the thought. Really, this pool must seem perfecty servicable to him. Placid water that's smooth as glass when undisturbed, all surrounded by clean white tiles and temperature-controlled air. And for someone who has never swam in his life, Ebenholz is taking to it quickly as he practices kicking and paddling through the water. A controlled recreational pool is a far cry from what they'll be facing in the upcoming missions, high tides strong enough that even casters and snipers are at risk of being pulled undertow, but it's better preparation than nothing.
Still makes Czerny's skin crawl more than he'd like to admit. Like everything he hates most about medical offices is encroaching on his hazy memories of long summer days spent by the water. Or maybe he's just bitter because it's been so long since he's gotten to swim in anything bigger than a bathtub.
"Hard to imagine you playing in the dirt. You're always so...crisp. Even when you've been awake for three days and reek of coffee, you're still. You know. Clean?"
"You've only ever seen me inside, or in a city." Even dipping his feet in the water doesn't feel right here. Where's the rushing water, the kicked-up sand, the tiny fish swimming by? "Used to be, not even music could keep me inside during the summer. All the children would get up early to march to the riverside before it got too hot out, and we'd stay there until dusk."
Back then, it hadn't mattered that they'd come from the Afterglow. Leithania was supposedly free of prejudice, and it had been true for the young-enough kids who didn't care about the crystals on one's skin so long as the good times kept rolling along the river. Though of course all the Afterglow kids and their allies, even Czerny before he'd become infected, had stuck to swimming in their regular clothes with modesty as an excuse. Still feels wrong to shed that here, even with how safe Rhodes Island claims to be. Cool air on his skin only serves to ring warning bells in his head.
Ebenholz is smart enough not to ask why Czerny stopped going outside. Infection, grief, duty, creation, all bars in the cage that had grown too tight. And he doesn't ask how long it's been, though Czerny could easily answer that it's been fifteen years since his best friend last took him by the hand and led him to the river, both of them reveling in the cool water and clinging to the shadows cast by trees so no one upstream could see them. Of course they'd been spotted anyway. They hadn't even had time to put their shoes back on before running back. She'd laughed in the face of fear, but through their gripped hands he'd felt both their hearts beating in the same triple-time percussion.
Instead the caprinae asks, "Join me? I can't promise I'll take until dusk, but I'd appreciate the company."
It is far too easy to dive, into water and memory both. Czerny used to practice holding his breath as long as he could as a kid, and once he grew up he'd spend days, weeks, years submerged in the past so he could wring every last note out of all he'd felt. Sinking is a familiar thing. Learning to tell when to come back up for air before he's left gasping, that's a trick in need of practice.
Touch the floor of the pool. Pretend it's a smooth rock among the sand and rushing fish. Open eyes (ouch, chlorine stings!) and look up. Imagine it's the sun. A shadow leans over into his field of view and it isn't her but for a moment it could be.
His heart aches before his lungs do.
The air is cold on Czerny's skin when he breaks the surface, and his hair flings water droplets everywhere. Ebenholz sputters as he's caught in the splash. Czerny makes himself look, really look instead of letting his past color the present in false colors. Here's Ebenholz with his dark hair unbound and flowing around him like ribbons, violet eyes that color of summer sky the instant the sun's escaped the horizon. He's pale and skinny enough that bones and blue veins jut out if one looks too close, and it all makes the perfect sharp crystals along his forearm stand out all the more. He looks so delicate even though Czerny knows full well what kind of trials he's stood against and won.
He's beautiful.
(He'd be more so under an actual blue summer sky, complaining about the dirt even as he runs his fingers through the grass and gets leaves in his hair.)
"Tell you what," Czerny says as he floats in that tiny pool. "If you can pass your inspection and join us on our mission, we should go swimming afterwards. Somewhere with real water instead of...this."
Ebenholz tilts his head. "Is real water really so different? Other than the dirt, I mean."
"So different, not even my music can describe it. Trust me, I have tried." He closes the distance between them, circling Ebenholz just to show off and shake the rust off swimming skills that once came so easily. Red and black hair intermingles in the water. "I will even pack a damn towel for you to set your clothes upon."
"Nein, nein. If the dirt is so integral to the experience, I will resign myself to it." He grins and cups Czerny's face with his own damp hands. "I would love to join you, wherever you lead me. For now, want to help me practice?"
The answer is, of course, always. After all, there are so many summers to catch up on.