It’s hot and sweaty and sticky—it smells like salt, like the ocean, and there are grains of sand stuck to their skin and falling from their wet hair, and that’s exactly the way he likes it. He likes the scent of sunlight and sunscreen, likes the feel of wet skin and drenched hair—likes the stickiness of heat and ocean water. He likes it, loves it, and most of all, he loves hooking his fingers into the elastic waistband of a pair of swimming trunks against a jutting hipbone.

          He laughs as he’s pushed into bed—his room, this time, because it’s a little closer to the elevator and they stumble towards it first. He laughs, grins, and locks his wrists behind Junhyung’s neck, taking them both down together—collapsing onto the mattress, most likely soaking the sheets with their wet bodies, their swimsuits dripping water all over the floor.

          “Christ, you’re hard fast,” Junhyung says, his mouth against Yoseob’s collarbone.

          The younger boy grins into Junhyung’s hair. “Not as fast as you.”

          He climbs out of the car and holds his palm over his eyes, shielding himself from the blinding sunlight so he can look up at the five, tall towers that make up this beach resort. Apparently, one of them is especially reserved, just for the students of the nearby university who’re on a particular kind of scholarship that enrolls them in a kind of lifeguard training camp. That’s the reason his family’s here, after all, the reason that they’ve moved all this way.

          His father has always worked at this hotel as the manager, and now that his older brother has been accepted into this camp, this scholarship group, the university is sending them both to live in the fifth tower since their family has always been closely knit with the association anyway. His father’s worked for the hotel, and his grandfather, and his uncles in other branches of the resort and so on.

          He can’t take his eyes away from the towers—no matter how intense the sunlight—until his brother claps him on the back. “C’mon, Dongwoon-ah,” he says. “We have to unload all this crap and check in—I hear they have early curfew here.”

          One of the best things, he thinks, about doing all of this, is how they never have to wear real clothes. Maybe it’s a beach thing, or a pool thing, or a resort thing, but he’s glad that whatever it is, it entitles him to just wearing swimming trunks wherever he goes, and at the most, a wifebeater on top of that or the uniform t-shirt. And even that has no sleeves. Either way, he only has one layer of clothes at the most and since they’re swimming trunks, there’s no underwear underneath.

          Which helps.

          It helps, except, he supposes that because it’s only one layer of clothes, there’s not much for Kikwang to hold onto while Hyunseung’s mouth is somewhere between the younger boy’s thighs, which means Kikwang ends up gripping Hyunseung’s hair instead and that kind of hurts after a while. He’s sure that if they actually had to wear real clothes, Kikwang could’ve held onto the shoulders of Hyunseung’s shirt or something. And—

          Hyunseung takes his mouth away and looks up, resting his chin momentarily on Kikwang’s thigh. “What about Saturday?” he asks. “Saturday we only have training in the afternoon. So maybe Yoseobie will sneak us out after that.”

          “Later,” Kikwang gasps, eyes shut and head tossed to the side as the shower head continues to pour water down their bodies, washing off sand and saltwater. “Later, hyung.”

          Admittedly, as Hyunseung his lips and holds Kikwang’s hips down so the younger boy doesn’t buck and gag him, Hyunseung knows that he should really talk about this later. Training for the newer students ends later than theirs, and soon, the locker room is going to be filled with people again.

          Which, he thinks, probably wouldn’t be too big of a deal if the hotel put in actual stalls for the showers instead of the thin curtains they have now.

          “You’re crazy,” she says and even through the phone, he can see her rolling her eyes. “I know I’ve said this like ten times, but really, you’re crazy. I hope you know that when you get out of your car and realize that you’re actually crazy.”

          He grins to himself and laughs through his cell phone. “Yep, I’m crazy,” he agrees easily, finishes parking his car and leans out the window—the five towers right before him, just like they were on the websites, in the brochures, in the pamphlets, in everything he’s ever seen while he was doing everything he can to get accepted.

          His sister snorts. “You probably don’t know exactly how crazy you are until they drown you or something.”

          This time he laughs louder, getting out of his car and readjusting his sunglasses on his nose. “I don’t think they’ll drown me, noona,” he says. “That’s probably a little counterproductive, y’know?”

          “Be a smartass,” she says. “See where that gets you with your sunbaes over there.” He goes to the back of his car, opening the trunk and getting ready to take out his luggage. “But, seriously, Doojoon-ah, be careful, okay? I mean—I know you can handle all the tough stuff—it’s just—I don’t know.”

          He stops midway into pulling out his first suitcase, and smiles to himself. “I know—I got it. I’m the one who put myself into this crap—I can’t just half- it, noona. Don’t worry about me. And make sure Umma and Appa don’t, like, text me every three minutes. I’m probably not going to have my phone with me most of the time anyway unless I want to drown it in the ocean.”

          She laughs, a little half-heartedly—worriedly. “Fine—fine. And don’t get hit by a boat or something because you were staring at some half- girl tanning.”

          Doojoon grins again. “What about some hot half- guy surfing?”

          “I really hope your sunbaes throw whistles at you.”