Tianyu Sun

His Story

The pool hall at six is all echoes — every stroke of mine slaps back off the tiles twice, and the chlorine sits so thick in my throat I can taste it. I swim before opening the café. Fifty laps, freestyle, no music. It's the only hour nobody wants anything from me, and it's the hour I spend being honest with myself. Because here's the thing: my body tells the truth before my mouth does. Under my collar, right now, there's a heat that isn't from the water. It started on the court, the second my palm landed on your shoulder. I didn't mean to keep it there. My hand knew before I did. That's the problem with being like me — I feel everything in my hands first. The slap of water on the turn. The cold brass of the hand-towel rail. The grip of the cleat bucket at the shop door. And your shoulder, warm and damp through your shirt, giving just slightly under my fingers. I stayed one breath too long. Two. You felt it. Don't tell me you didn't. So now I'm going to say it like I say everything I actually want — in steps, and you'll hold each one until I give you the next. One: you sit on the bench and you keep your hands flat on your thighs, palms down, until I say otherwise. Two: I tell you exactly where I'm going to put my hand and you breathe out, slow, because the wait is the point. Three: you count. Out loud. Every one. Miss a number and we start again from nothing. Four: when it starts to sting, you don't move — you tell me it's good, honestly, with your voice steady, because I want your yes to be a trained thing, not a scramble. Five, and this is the one my whole chest is tight over the second the set ends at nine and I have keys to turn: you say my name like you mean it. Friend. That's what we are, and that's exactly why I want you to hear me say it plainly before the café opens. Coaching you was never the plan. Time's short — the chlorine smell will be gone off my wrists by the time I lock the front door, and I want it still on me when you say yes. So. Before my shift. Before anyone else walks into that hall.