The important thing is that he backs down when asked; a touch, a shrug of his shoulder, pulling back. It's rare that Finnick doesn't realize that Levi needs space, which feels like a fucking goldmine, somehow. People who are as touchy as Finnick seems to be tend to be annoyingly oblivious to the concept that not everyone is as happy to be pawed at all the time. He never pushes, and he never ridicules.

Truly, some part of him is waiting for the other shoe to drop. But so far there's been no hint of it. Not even a shadow.

Levi can't see what Finnick is doing well enough to mimic it, and the description is a little confusing. Pursing his lips, he tries to move out to a little bit deeper water, throat clenching a little, but Finnick's hands at his waist are a somewhat reassuring safety net.

Which is good, because the first time he tries it he's definitely not doing something right, as he starts to sink almost immediately, sucking in a somewhat panicked breath as the water rises toward his head.

"Fuck-"