Chapter I – page 13

 

 

          They aren’t wearing masks when they fall in love with each other.

          They aren’t wearing suits out silk and linen and velvet—they aren’t wearing powdered wigs, aren’t dancing at a ball, don’t gaze into each other’s eyes lovingly and passionately. They don’t fall in love with each other at first sight.

          They’re at a party, outdoors, beneath the stars—on the sand—beside the ocean. There’re no violins, no cellos and pianos—no orchestra in the background of their budding romance. Their budding romance is filled with booming music that shakes the entire beach, accompanied by the rush of the tide sweeping in—with alcohol and dirty dancing as the harmonies.

          They’re not here to fall in love at first sight because they already know each other and because Joon is already in love with someone else.

          Seungho is Joon’s instructor and Joon loves Yang Yoseob (is in a relationship with Yang Yoseob).

          At this party without masks, without suits—without wigs and orchestras and romance—they’re here to become friends. They’re here to dance with each other, to become a little more than trainee-and-instructor, to drink with each other, and at the end of the night, they walk side-by-side back to the towers (with Joon tripping more than a few times on passing sand crabs).

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter III – page 35

 

 

          “Ah,” Seungho drawls lightly. “The sajangnim’s son?”

          Joon frowns, eyes getting defensive—it almost makes Seungho smile. “I’m not dating him because—”

          “Calm the down,” Seungho grins, head tipping back to look at the dark sky. He lowers himself back onto his elbows, lying spread eagle against the warm sand. “I didn’t even say anything yet.” He glances at Joon—the trainee is quiet (a rare thing) and his face is solemn.

          “You believe me, right?” the younger man asks.

          Seungho smiles again. “I told you to calm the down,” he says, raising his voice playfully.

          Joon smiles back.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter VI – page 52

 

 

          Yoseob has had his heart broken too many times—Joon knows that.

          He knows that because Yong Junhyung has made it intensely clear that if Joon ever even accidentally adds to the already far-too-many-times Yoseob’s hear has been broken, then Junhyung will make it a definite thing that he’ll break Joon—regardless of the fact that Joon is older and a sunbae.

          It doesn’t make it any better—doesn’t make it any more justified—but Joon, in all honesty, never fell in love with Yoseob with the intention to fall out of love. He never asked Yoseob out with the intention of loving someone else while still with Yoseob because Yoseob is still in high school and Joon is out here on the resort as a trainee. He never wanted anything except Yoseob, but that was when he didn’t know Seungho.

          Joon smiles to himself a little (bitterly) as he realizes they’re both Yangs—kind of ironic, funny in a humorless way. His lips stay like that—twisted bitterly and tersely—as he stares at Yoseob’s number on his phone.

          He knows that he still loves Yoseob.

          But he’s scared that he’s starting to love Seungho too.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter VII – page 66

 

 

          Trainee life is hard.

          The day starts when the sun rises and ends long after the sun sets. Breakfast is eaten before there’s daylight and, more often than not, it’s the only real meal that trainees see until after practice is done—well past dinner. There are energy drinks during the five minute breaks, maybe the occasional power bar, but even if there’s actual food available to them, no one eats anyway.

          It’s harder to move on a full stomach, and anyone who gets a cramp is left in the water and written off with a bad mark for the day.

          Being a trainee is hard and being a good trainee is even harder (even more taxing) and because Joon is always one of the first ones to finish his rounds, even with the easier drills—because Joon always tries his hardest (needs to be first)—Seungho, more often than not, finds him throwing up behind the bushes near the entrance to the locker rooms. Throwing up isn’t a rare thing for trainees—is even sometimes helpful because most trainees feel relieved after lightening their stomachs—but Joon is always throwing up.

          “Just give him some water and let him go,” Byunghee says (worriedly) because Seungho is just an instructor—if Joon wants care, he has to go to the resort’s infirmary.

          So Seungho waits until Byunghee, and all the other trainees—the other instructors, have gone back to the hotel (long after the sun sets) before walking around the pools, towards the locker room—towards Joon.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter VIII – page 68

 

 

          Joon thinks he may or may not have overdone it today. He can’t feel his legs as Seungho drags him onto the nearest pool chair—the instructor towels Joon’s body and hair dry, before rolling the towel up and putting it underneath Joon’s head. “You’re ing stupid,” Seungho says coolly as Joon opens his mouth obediently for the older man to stream water in.

          The trainee tries to swallow (counts to five in his head and breathes in and out and steadily as he can), but just ends up spitting it up all over again—all over Seungho.

          “—”

          “—I’m sorry—”

          He meets Seungho’s eyes.

          “Why—”

          “Shut the up,” Seungho says and looks away first. He takes a small, white bottle from the lifeguard pack around his waist and spills two clear, red pills out onto Joon’s palm. “Take those and sleep in tomorrow. I’ll write you a slip and you can make up the hours some other time.”

          Joon’s fingers close over the pills as Seungho’s eyes continue to avoid his. The instructor brushes damp hair away from Joon’s forehead, expression undecipherable and Joon hates that. He hates not being able to even guess as to what goes on in Seungho’s mind—he moving blind (for all he knows, Joon could be the only one starting to feel something strange and perfect blooming in his chest and Seungho is just being kind).

          He wants to know so badly that he does something he shouldn’t.

          He reaches out with his free hand and cups Seungho’s face.

          The older man doesn’t pull away—merely brings his gaze to connect with Joon’s, eyes intent and steady. Joon doesn’t know how long they stay like that—doesn’t have even the slightest inkling on how time passes while they’re frozen against each other. All he knows is that a certain amount of time does pass, and then Seungho is standing up, moving away.

          “Take the pills and go to sleep,” the instructor says quietly, before walking back to the hotel.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter IX – page 89

 

 

          “He made them up already?”

          Tipsy voices and shot glasses in dim, husky lighting.

           “Yeah—just added them on after today’s practice. Timing was ing perfect—I’m not even that fast.” Byunghee glances at Seungho.

          Seungho feels his lips curve upward against the rim of his glass. But he doesn’t dare meet the other man’s eyes—even if he doesn’t, Byunghee will say it anyway though. They’ve been friends too long for the other man not to say it.

          “He’s an easy kid to like,” Byunghee starts out quietly and Seungho almost grins (humorlessly) because it was so expected. “But we don’t really know him—”

          “We know how hard he ing works,” Seungho says just as quietly.

          “Which means we know how much he wants to make it into the program,” Byunghee says—and his voice isn’t as quiet anymore. He’s looking at Seungho with raised eyebrows, putting the glass down on the bar table. “And he’s dating the sajangnim’s son, so do you really—”

          “We don’t really know him,” Seungho echoes a little too loudly (a little too insistently) and some of the other people in the bar suddenly glance in their direction. “That goes both ways.”

          Byunghee falls quiet after that and Seungho is sorry—it’s Byunghee who has the voice of reason right now and Seungho is just too stubborn (in love?) to acknowledge that. He knows he’ll regret this later on, but he can’t help it—he can’t help hoping (because Lee Joon is an easy kid to like—in Byunghee’s words—Lee Joon is the kind of person who steals breaths and hearts and never gives them back).

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XI – page 112

 

 

          Joon throws his phone across the room, sliding down against the wall and putting his head between his knees. He’s glad that Sanghyun went downstairs to eat because he doesn’t want his roommate to see him break down.

          He tangles his fingers in his hair and grits his teeth, the words running through his mind over and over again like a never-ending stream of credits after a movie. He knows that he’ll have to reply to it sometime today otherwise Yoseob will wonder if something’s wrong.

          It’s just a simple text.

          Asking if Joon’s doing all right, telling Joon that he’s an for making Yoseob miss him so much, saying that maybe Yoseob will have time to visit some weekend soon.

          He doesn’t want to break Yoseob’s heart.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XIII – page 137

 

 

          It’s on a Saturday night.

          On a Saturday night, Seungho does what he knows is wrong and doesn’t say no when Joon grabs him by the arm in the middle of an empty hallway and asks if maybe they could go out into town and hang out. Seungho doesn’t say no because he’s probably the most stupid human that’s ever lived on this earth (and because Joon’s eyes are hopeful and earnest and the trainee is stuttering and sputtering all over himself and Seungho can’t do anything except smile and say yes).

          Joon takes him far, far out through the town—so far that they aren’t even in town anymore. The younger man brings them all the way to the outskirts, on the farther, less frequented end of the beach—usually where the surfers go for better waves and less small children milling around with their vacationing families. It’s a weekend night and the waves are filled with evening surfers.

          The trainee plops down onto the sand and Seungho sits down beside him. They watch the surfers in silence for a while—for a long time, maybe, Seungho wouldn’t know because he can never gauge how time passes when he’s with Joon.

          “You’re a good dancer.”

          Seungho glances at the younger man.

          Joon smiles hesitantly. “At the party? Pretty ing awesome—y’know—drunk b-boying.”

          Seungho laughs. “Pretty ing dangerous,” he says sheepishly. “Byunghee should’ve stopped me.” He raises his eyebrows playfully. “You, too, though—drunk—what the was it—pirouettes?”

          “Yah,” Joon widens his eyes defensively, shoving at Seungho while the instructor laughs again—laughs harder. “Yah, I want to see you try it.”

          Seungho’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs again—this time, out of challenge. He stands up, tucking the edges of his t-shirt into his waistband. “I want to see me try it too,” he grins as Joon also scrambles to his feet.

          Now, more than ever, there’s no such thing as time passing—no such thing as seconds or minutes or hours—while Seungho twirls and spins and flips and stands on his head and walks on his hands (he feels like every surfer out there tonight must think he and Joon are insane) with Joon doing the same, while they laugh even though they’re already breathless, while they continue to try and one-up each other even though their bodies are already exhausted.

          He has no idea (doesn’t want to know—doesn’t really care) how much time has gone by because when he’s with Joon, Seungho wishes time would simply freeze and never restart.

          And, as they finally collapse onto the sand—Seungho first with Joon landing close beside him—as one of Joon’s arms wraps around Seungho’s waist and Seungho’s hand instinctively comes up to touch Joon’s face—as their eyes meet—as Joon leans in and Seungho tilts his head—as their lips meet, as Joon’s body presses down against Seungho’s—

          Joon is with Yang Yoseob—is a trainee—is out of bounds—might take advantage of Seungho—might just need stress relief—might not even really care about Seungho—might only see Seungho as a hyung—

          He doesn’t even mind anymore—he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t care how much it hurts, because nothing could ever hurt more than stopping—stopping whatever this has become, if it even has a name. Whatever this is that’s between them—Seungho doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop, won’t stop.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XX – page 160

 

 

          Yoseob visits on a Sunday afternoon.

          Joon breaks up with him—can barely look into the younger boy’s eyes, can barely get the words out, can barely tell Yoseob that it’s because Joon is in love with someone else, and refuses to say who that someone is. It’s the worst break up Joon has ever thought possible and he hates that he couldn’t even at least end things the way Yoseob deserves.

Yoseob doesn’t deserve any of this so Joon is more than glad that Junhyung punches Joon as soon as the trainee is done breaking up with Yoseob. Joon is glad that Junhyung came with Yoseob to visit Joon—glad that Junhyung keeps punching Joon because Joon doesn’t intend to fight back. He lies there, instinctively curled in on himself on the ground to protect himself, but other than that—he lets Junhyung kick him, slap him, punch him, hit him—

“Don’t—”

“Yoseob-ah—”

“Stop it,” Yoseob shouts and shoves Junhyung away. Yoseob stands over Joon, arms spread wide apart and eyes glowering at Junhyung.

Joon grimaces—not from the pain (okay, partially from the pain)—he grimaces because Yoseob has to stop this. Yoseob has to stop being perfect, being everything Joon is supposed to want and yet not enough at the same time (it’s not Yoseob’s fault he isn’t Seungho). Yoseob has to stop making Joon feel like the bad guy—like the villain—like a heartbreaker because he’s not. He’s not (Seungho is the real heartbreaker).

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XI – page 181

 

 

          Seungho doesn’t know what happened, but he can guess.

          He doesn’t know why exactly Joon’s skin is covered in bruises and cuts when the trainee reports to practice on Monday, but he can guess—and he can make a fairly accurate guess when he factors in how he heard about the sajangnim’s son (and his friend—the manager’s son) being on break and visiting the resort on Sunday. That’s the guess that Seungho makes, but he doesn’t want to hope (he doesn’t want to, but it’s useless to try and stop).

          It’s arrogant, anyway (and disgusting and selfish), to hope that Joon broke Yoseob’s heart (Seungho is hoping for someone he doesn’t even know—someone guiltless and years younger than him—to be hurt just so Seungho can have a chance at what he wants) for Seungho.

          The entire session, Byunghee keeps glancing over at Seungho whenever Joon stumbles (when Joon is usually always the first one to finish drills). The entire session, Seungho has to dig his teeth deep into his lip to keep himself from running out into the water and just dragging Joon out altogether (he doesn’t understand why Joon always has to try so hard—there’s working hard and then there’s having the ing common sense to let up a little bit).

          He doesn’t understand, has to restrain himself, but all of that is shot the moment dark falls and practice ends. Byunghee looks at Seungho one last time—a look that completely and utterly says that he knows what’s going to happen between Seungho and Joon from now on and won’t try and stop it. Seungho tries to at least give the other man a smile (as thanks? As understanding? As acknowledgement?) but it doesn’t work.

          The moment everyone else is gone, Seungho catches Joon’s gaze (catches Joon’s lips) and they’re tumbling off into the locker rooms.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXII – page 199

 

 

          It’s not romantic.

          It’s not done between silk sheets, under gauze canopies by faint candlelight and ghostly silence. It’s not done beneath the stars on a picnic blanket in the middle of a deserted field with tall grass shielding them into isolation. It’s not slow and gentle with promises and whispers on their lips. Their touches aren’t caresses—aren’t soft that slide carefully down smooth skin.

          Joon is injured—he’s bruised and cut because he didn’t want to go to the infirmary—he’s injured and he doesn’t want Seungho to care because Joon deserves every bit of the pain. He throws and pins Seungho against the lockers, against the tiles, against the shower walls because he wants Seungho to do the same back to him. He wants Seungho to know that Joon isn’t going to be gentle because they’ve both wanted this for longer than they should’ve and they need it more than they’re supposed to.

          Seungho seems to understand—seems to hear Joon’s wordless request loud and clear.

          It’s everything but romantic.

          It’s done against the wet, slippery tiles of the locker room with neither one knowing who’ll have control because for them, control is traded on and off so many times that it leaves Joon’s mind spinning. It’s done under the fluorescent lights, too bright against sensitive and tired eyes (shining through closed eyelids as Joon feels his back arch against the cold lockers and makes Seungho arch against the wet walls in return). It’s rough and needy and Joon slides inside Seungho only because he gets there first—if he had let control slip out of his fingers in this game of eenie-meenie, it could’ve been Seungho sliding into Joon.

          But all Seungho does is wrap his arms around Joon’s neck tight enough to suffocate, bringing Joon down close against the instructor’s body, and whispers (orders—demands) for Joon to go faster—harder—to hurry the up because if the trainee is going to take this long than it’ll be Seungho’s turn before Joon will have time to blink.

          They don’t finish with just once.

          They don’t finish until Joon has made Seungho gasp and moan and writhe against the tiles, until Seungho flips Joon over (pushes himself inside of Joon) and makes the younger man gasp and moan and writhe against the tiles, until Joon has had Seungho in his mouth, until Seungho’s stretched his full lips around Joon—they don’t stop until they’ve both taken and given in turn because that’s how it is between them—how it’s always been. They’ve always played as equals because it doesn’t matter to them who the instructor is and who the trainee is—who’s the hyung and who’s the dongsaeng.

          It’s not romantic and it’s not a love story—there’s no damsel to save and to hero to save her.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXIII – page 203

 

 

          They’re like this a lot, Seungho thinks—lying on the sand beside each other (limbs loosely intertwined, Joon’s cheek pressed against Seungho’s shoulder) and staring off at the starless sky.

          “’S not your real name, right?”

          Joon blinks—a little surprised.

          Seungho smiles, turning his head against the sand so their gazes meet. “Byunghee was the one who got your application, so really—I don’t know about you.”

          Joon looks away, grinning, eyes traveling back to the sky. “It’s a nickname,” he says, bringing their joined hands up, having them stretch upward towards the starless night.

          “What’s your real name?” Seungho reaches over to dust a few grains of sand out of Joon’s bangs.

          “Lee Changsun,” the trainee smiles, showing rows of neat, white teeth.

          “Changsun-ah?” Seungho tries out, looking at him.

          Joon sticks his tongue out thoughtfully. “Mm,” he hums. “Only when we have ,” he concludes firmly.

          Seungho laughs. “The ?” He nudges Joon’s side. “I didn’t even say you could stop the sunbaenim but then it was all Seungho-hyung when I was ing you.”

          “Yah,” the tips of Joon’s ears turn red (evident enough even in the darkness) and Seungho just laughs harder. “Yah—yah, you know what—you can go yourself because you ing know that when I ed you, you were all like Joon-ah, Joon-ah,” the trainee mimics in a voice so overachievingly high that the imitation ends in Joon breaking down in coughs.

          Seungho snorts, pulling Joon closer. “Yeah,” he laughs into Joon’s hair. “Whatever the hell you say.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXVI – page 267

 

 

          They don’t want to be a love story—were determined not to be.

          But they fight. There’s always a fight in a love story and that’s what happens.

          They fight because Seungho wants Joon to stop sneaking out late at night to find Seungho—because Seungho wants Joon to rest, wants Joon to use every second that he isn’t running and swimming drills to sleep and eat because Seungho knows how hard and painful it is to be a trainee. They fight because all Joon wants and needs is to see Seungho—because Seungho can’t seem to understand that no amount of sleep will have Joon gritting his teeth and pushing his body to swim or run faster than being with Seungho.

          They fight because Seungho is scared—because he can’t seem to make Joon realize that if they get caught, it’s Joon who’s going to get the brunt of the repercussions—that they’ll see Joon as someone who’s trying to ease his way into the program, that Seungho will just be put on probation (because the higher ups know Seungho by now, but Joon is still only a trainee) but Joon’s chance at this program will have ended before it could even start.

          And maybe—

          Maybe Seungho is starting to see it like that too.

          He knows he shouldn’t—knows that Joon isn’t like that (right?), but Byunghee’s words won’t stop echoing inside of his mind, again and again, and every time he looks into Joon’s eyes, he hates having to wonder if what he’s seeing in those eyes is actually true or if it’s just Joon needing something to deal with the stress. He tries not to think of the other possibility—the one where Joon is using Seungho.

          They fight until they’re both hoarse from shouting at each other across an empty beach, trying to drown each other out against the sound of the rising tide.

          “Why can’t you just ing listen?” Seungho asks with his hand Joon’s collar.

          “Why don’t you ing believe me?” Joon whispers with his breath ghosting over Seungho’s lips.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXVIII – page 315

 

 

          Yoseob visits again on another Sunday afternoon.

          It’s another weekend afternoon when Sanghyun has gone out and Joon is alone in the dorm. He stares at the younger boy for all of a minute—with Yoseob blinking back silently—before letting him inside and asking, “Junhyungie isn’t with you again, is he?”

          Yoseob laughs as he sits down on the edge of Sanghyun’s bed, across from Joon’s. “No,” he says. “I know you like your face the way it is, so I didn’t tell him I was coming here.”

          “Oh,” Joon blinks. He stands awkwardly in front of his own bed, hands in his pockets, and facing Yoseob. “Um,” he sits down. “Are you going to punch me?”

          Yoseob falls onto his back, shaking from silent laughter before he rolls to the side and opens one eye playfully. “Thinking about it,” he says lightly, but he gives Joon a smile that just makes Joon want to punch himself before Yoseob can.

          Joon smiles back faintly, half-heartedly because he doesn’t deserve to be talking to Yoseob like this—to have Yoseob smile at him like this. “You really should,” he says quietly. “I think you should.”

          “Nah,” Yoseob wrinkles his nose playfully and Joon’s jaw tightens. “I just wanted to be a pathetic ex and try asking you again if I get to know who the lucky guy is.”

          Joon meets the younger boy’s eyes.

          He at least owes Yoseob that much.

          “Seungho-hyung,” Joon says evenly, turning his head slightly towards the window. “Yang Seungho—he’s one of my instructors.”

          Yoseob’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening a bit. “Oh,” he breathes. “Oh—I—whoa.”

          Joon smiles sheepishly. “Yeah,” he glances at Yoseob. “I know.”

          “Drama,” Yoseob says, whistling teasingly and Joon laughs. “But it’s just for the summer, right? You guys just have to keep it in your pants or not get caught until then and—”

          “Yoseob-ah,” Joon begins quietly, “I don’t think—like—no.”

          Yoseob frowns.

          “I pissed him off,” Joon continues slowly. “I don’t think it’s going to work out—he’s, like, been ignoring me ever since so—”

          “Get him back,” Yoseob says shortly, standing up. Joon stares. Yoseob raises his eyebrows and shrugs one shoulder. “Get him the back.” Joon blinks, mouth falling open as Yoseob’s expression remains firm. “You didn’t just break up me because you felt like it, Lee Changsun,” Yoseob says, reaching out and tugging at a lock of Joon’s hair. “You ing broke up with me because you love him so get him back.”

          He doesn’t know why he does it (Joon knows that’s the explanation he uses for lots of things and that it’s a crappy one, but it’s the only explanation that’s true). He doesn’t know why he stands up and kisses Yoseob on the lips—just a brush of mouth against mouth that hardly lasts for more than a few seconds.

          When he pulls away, falling back down on the bed and looking up at Yoseob, the younger boy’s expression is fragile—terribly breakable even though he’s still smiling. “You always give me amazing kisses,” Yoseob says softly. “Thanks.”

          “I can still give them to you,” Joon blurts out and Yoseob stares. “I—mean—like—not—not like—we’re still friends, right? Friends can kiss,” he says, waving his arms in explanation because he doesn’t want Yoseob to think he’s some kind of or something.

          Yoseob just smiles (the saddest smile Joon has ever seen and he wishes and hopes that Yoseob will find a love story of his own one day—with someone who’ll give him what Joon couldn’t).

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXXI – page 388

 

 

          The first thing Seungho does when Joon returns to consciousness is hit him. He punches the trainee’s shoulder so hard that Joon nearly tips out of the infirmary bed and upsets the curtain rack. After he punches the younger man, Seungho sits back down on his chair at Joon’s bedside and calmly raises his eyebrows when Joon stares at him in disbelief.

          “ you,” Joon says loudly once his arms have stopped flailing from Lee-Joon-reflex.

          “You can’t,” Seungho says, and he’s glad that his voice is still cool and steady, “because you’ve been exhausting yourself with extra drills after sessions are over but for some reason your times have gotten ty lately and it doesn’t make any ing sense so how about you explain to your ing instructor so he can understand what the ’s been wrong with you for the past two weeks.”

          He watches as Joon stares down into his lap, fingers plucking absently at the white blanket. Byunghee is the one in charge of the trainees who need to do remedial drills or just work on specific or resuscitation skills—sometimes maybe only theory—after sessions are over for the day. And, apparently, since two weeks ago, Joon has been coming every single night even though it’s redundant in any instructor’s opinion for Lee Joon to do extra drills.

          But as of two weeks ago, Joon’s times have not only been lagging on Seungho’s list, but on Byunghee’s list, and every other instructor’s list as well. His drills have either been sloppy or lagging in time and Seungho doesn’t ing understand because he’s done what he should’ve—he’s taken himself out of Joon’s life so the trainee can focus, but everything is just getting worse and then Joon had to ing pass the out and Byunghee had to carry him to the infirmary.

          “I don’t understand either,” Joon says finally—quietly. “I sleep more, but I’m still tired. So then my times start to , so I do more drills, but I just get slower and tier. And when I’m tired, I get hungrier but I can’t eat more or I’ll puke more, and—”

          “You’re such a ing problem child,” Seungho sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Joon is a problem—has been a problem ever since the moment Seungho laid eyes on him, will always be a problem for as long as they’re together. Lee Joon is the biggest, most severe problem Seungho has ever encountered—unsolvable, without a ing solution in the world, and Seungho doesn’t know what to do with him.

          Almost—not quite. Frustrating, only because Joon is a problem with just one solution—no other options.

          Joon swallows, still staring emptily into his lap. “Sorry.”

          Seungho sighs again, glad that the trainee can’t see the older man’s smile. He leans one knee onto the bed and cups Joon’s face with his hand. The younger man’s eyes stretch as Seungho’s smile widens. “Me too.”

          He kisses Joon.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXXIV – page 405

 

 

          There’s no wedding.

          There’re no bells tolling, no white dresses, no white horses, no broken towels and broken spells, no kisses that open sleeping eyes. There aren’t any flowers—there aren’t any families reuniting, no long lost prince or princess being returned to their rightful kingdom and throne. There’s none of that because this isn’t a love story—the only semblance of anything it has, the only tiny similarity, is that there’s a bit of tradition.

          It’s tradition for the instructor whom the trainee has grown the closest to—who might’ve even grown to be something of a mentor—to be the one who puts the whistle around the trainee’s neck at the ceremony. It’s tradition for the trainee to normally choose to enter that same instructor’s squad—the letter of the squad engraved into the side of the whistle.

          Seungho has to bite his lips hard to swallow down the laughter while he reaches up and pulls the whistle around Joon’s neck, the cut M glinting in the morning sunlight against Joon’s chest. Byunghee is the one who puts an identical whistle around Sanghyun’s neck. They stand up on the stage for a round of pictures before walking off with Sanghyun pulling them into agreeing for a round of drinks tonight.

          Byunghee is yanked away to be introduced to Sanghyun’s sister at the same time that Seungho feels himself yanked away behind the curtains backstage.

          “I’m going to get you so ing drunk tonight,” Joon whispers (laughs) against Seungho’s ear, arms around the older man’s waist.

          Seungho snorts. “Why? So you can me?”

          “You can me too,” Joon says brightly. “We can take turns like last time.”

          Seungho buries his face in Joon’s neck, the older man’s shoulders shaking with laughter. “Fine,” he laughs. “Fine—we’ll ing take turns.”

          Joon grins cheekily, swinging an arm around Seungho’s neck as Sanghyun waves to them—clearly with intentions of introducing them to his sister as well. Joon waves back, other hand entwined with Seungho’s as they walk down the steps together.

          They walk together without any crowds cheering for them, without a carriage covered with flowers waiting for them because it’s still not a love story.

          It’s still not a love story because it doesn’t end with them living happily ever after. 

          It ends with them beginning.