Johnny's splashing and paddling is every bit as awkward - he's a decent swimmer but jeans and shoes add what feels like fifty pounds. He's hoisted himself out halfway when he notices Seth is having a bit of trouble, and drops back down, grabbing one hand clinging awkwardly to the platform while the other reaches out for Seth. He can't talk for chemical-tasting water getting in his mouth, but he manages to get a hold of Seth's hand and hauls him in, slipping back into the water with the sudden momentum. He keeps his hand on Seth's back, pushing them both back up, and heaves himself out of the water, flopping onto tile and cement like a tiny, lanky beached whale.

"Here, I gotcha," he mutters, leaning down to help Seth out. As soon as Seth has enough leverage to help himself, Johnny lets go and drops back down onto the floor, staring up at the brightly lit ceiling. This room feels like a different fucking universe, but somehow that doesn't surprise him.

"You okay?" he says, looking over at his friend. He feels strange, exposed, but also muted, like he's recovering from an anesthetic. "Um. Thanks."