Episode 1

He sighs into his pillow when he feels hands wrap around his ankles, attempting to tug him out of bed and onto the floor. On any other day, he’d get out of bed on his own despite the ridiculous wake-up times they’re given. On any other day, he might even ignore the pounding in his head—might even laugh as he’s pulled out of bed, falling to the floor and bringing with him the sheets wrapped around his body.

          Any other day—maybe.

          Just not today.

          “Get up,” Junhyung says, exasperated and giving one final pull that sends Yoseob sprawled on the floor, sheets muddled around him. “We’re going to be late.”

          Yoseob pulls the blankets away from his face and looks up with his cheeks filled with air. “My head hurts,” he pouts, and reaches a hand upward.

          Junhyung raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He takes Yoseob’s hand, and makes to pull him up. “Well that’s what happens when you play drinking games with Hyunseung.” He makes to pull the younger man up, but Yoseob yanks Junhyung down with him—down on top of him—and flattens his body on Junhyung.

          “Kikwangie joined, too,” Yoseob shrugs.

          “I know,” Junhyung says, and tries to shove Yoseob off. “That’s why I ended up carrying you and piggy-backing him back to the tower.”

          Yoseob shrugs again. “The fence isn’t that high.”

          Junhyung hits him with a pillow.

          Yoseob hates the summer applicants.

          He doesn’t mind the spring applicants, the fall applicants, not even the winter applicants that he has to introduce and teach in the indoors pools because clearly learning how to save others lives doesn’t mean anyone wants their own to freeze away. He doesn’t mind newcomers, doesn’t have anything against them—he just hates the summer applicants.

          In every batch, at least half are weeded out—either because they don’t have the stamina, because they decide this isn’t for them, because they want to join another scholarship group, because they just don’t like the feel of things, because they have to transfer. In every batch, at least half of the applicants are weeded out, but in the summer group, it’s at least three-quarters.

          At least.

          The first thing Yoseob does when he sees Hyunseung in the locker rooms is slap the older man’s back hard enough to leave a splotch of pink on pale skin—skin that, no matter how much Hyunseung is beneath the sun, never seems to darken. Hyunseung whirls around and hits Yoseob back on the head. “The ,” he says, as Kikwang’s comes skidding to a halt in his trunks, sleeveless uniform t-shirt hanging over his shoulder.

          “Because of you,” Yoseob says, “I had a bottle of aspirin for breakfast.”

          “And I think your boyfriend permanently made me a hunchback,” Junhyung adds as he walks into the locker section, hair still wet from warming up in the showers.

          Hyunseung grins sheepishly, “Sorry,” he says, not looking apologetic at all as he tugs Kikwang forward by the waistband.

          The summer applicants always have the worst reasons.

          They have the worst reasons for applying, and the worst reasons for quitting.

          The ones who apply for the summer course are the ones who don’t need scholarship assistance—who can pay their way easily through this university—the ones who are rich enough to maybe even buy themselves a diploma, buy themselves a career, but decide that they want to join anyway. They’re the ones who see shirtless boys and half- girls on the pamphlets and think that that’s everything this is—the ones that think that’s all this is.

          Those are the ones Yoseob hates the most.

          When they get out to the grounds, the poolside, the staff has already taped off the parts of the resort’s water park that are going to be used for the next few months as training grounds. On all sides of the pools reserved for practice, families on vacation, couples on honeymoons, groups of high school students on summer break—people staying at the other four towers surround them on all sides, a few watching, a few glancing by, but most simply disregarding.

          The trainees are already lined up into rows upon rows, standing straight and at the ready for instruction.

          “If they know I hate the summer ones so much,” Yoseob says as they walk out towards the trainees and Junhyung hands him his whistle, “I don’t ing get why they can’t assign M onto them. It’s not fair that they always get the winter session.”

          “Joonie-hyung’s in that squad,” Junhyung says. “Do you want to be the one reapplying his sunblock ever thirty minutes so he gets an even tan?”

          Yoseob makes a face. “That’s Seungho-hyung’s job, isn’t it?”

          Junhyung grins and lightly pats him on the stomach. “Exactly.” 

Episode 2

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” Doori says, exasperated and even though Doojoon can’t see her, he knows that her eyes are rolling. “It’s only been two days—I’m pretty sure that’s not enough time for someone to hate you. You didn’t do anything to piss him off, right?”

          Doojoon stretches his leg out, pushing down on his thigh and wincing heavily. “No, but if he makes me do extra runs during break again while I’m ing starving, then I’m going to give him a ing amazing reason to be ing pissed off, that ing, mothering er.” He makes to hold the phone between is ear and shoulder so he can use both hands to stretch his leg out, except Yang Yoseob had made him do extra laps, too, which meant that his shoulder wasn’t moving in any direction any time soon—as he finds out with another wince.

          Doori is silent for just a moment. Then, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

          “Sadly,” Doojoon says, switching the phone to his other hand so he can at least rotate his shoulders (he tries to ignore the crackling sounds), “he is.”

          She’s silent for another moment, which Doojoon takes advantage of, putting the phone down on a nearby table and pulling both of his arms back—his eyes scrunch up and he bites his lip. When he hears a voice from his cell phone, he picks it back up. “Maybe,” his sister says thoughtfully, “he thinks you’re hot, too? And he wants to get your attention?”

          Doojoon snorts, going to the suitcase he hasn’t unpacked yet—he bends down and starts sifting through for a shirt. “He’s younger than me,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean he’s a kindergartner, noona. I’m pretty sure we’re all over pulling each other’s hair to show that we like someone.” He frowns when his hand touches something plastic cornered to one side against a few sweatpants. “Besides, he’s my instructor and he hates me.”

          Doori laughs. “You think he’s really hot, don’t you?”

          He hangs up on her.

          Doojoon decides to head downstairs to the lobby after he wakes up from a nap—after he looks out the window and sees how the sun has set, how the grounds have entirely closed up, how the tide is starting to draw in. He’s been told that the trainees can catch their meals in the tower’s restaurants on the first floor, and that for trainees who just want to drop by to bring food back to their rooms, there’ll always be ramyeon, rice, kimchi, and drinks in the lobby.

          He grips the thin sweatshirt he’s pulled over himself as he rides the elevator down, wondering why the air conditioning is put on so high if this is supposed to be a beach resort. The lobby is already mostly empty when he gets down since in an hour, it’ll be curfew for the trainees and two hours after that, it’ll be curfew for all of the actual squads. There are only a few trainees scattered here and there on the sofas, some eating, most just talking.

          The tables pushed to the side are laden with ramyeon cups and kettles of boiling water—rice cookers and small plates of kimchi. Doojoon makes a beeline towards them, can feel his stomach growling despite losing his appetite when dinner was actually being served (because being abused by your instructor for no ing reason does that to a person), can imagine ramyeon, rice, and kimchi as the best meal he’s had in his life because of how hungry he is—

          He stops.

          Doojoon stops walking right in the middle of the lobby, halfway to the food tables, and stares because why the is Yang Yoseob pouring boiling water into a ramyeon cup?

          He clearly remembers that while the trainees have to stay on resort grounds, the lifeguards are allowed to go into town and get meals from any of the restaurants for free (within reason) because of the level of prestige the scholarship offers—and because it also happens to be the university’s town. He clearly remembers being told this during the orientation the night of check-in, so they the is Yang Yoseob down here eating—and clearly not alone, since Doojoon now spots, on the sofas nearby, the three other instructors from today waiting for him.

          Fine.

          Fine—okay. Whatever. Whatever.

          Doojoon is ing starving.

          He’s ing starving, so he forces his feet to move again, despite the fact that he’s probably too pissed off to eat whatever ramyeon he ends up making at this point. He reaches the table, stands beside Yoseob, and starts scanning through the tops of the cups. His eyes slide to Yoseob’s hands, glancing briefly to find that Yoseob’s at the stage where he’s just waiting for it to finish.

          Doojoon spends the next few seconds debating in his head whether to take the red cup or the yellow cup, and his hand is just three-quarters of the way to the red pile when Yoseob takes his chopsticks off of his own ramyeon lid and starts to stir. The instructor slips his chopsticks into the cup and turns to leave—

          But not before he bumps shoulders so hard against Doojoon that the trainee is literally forced to the side a few steps.

          “Yah,” Doojoon says, whirling around—his hand shoots out, faster than his mind, as fast as reflex, and his fingers wrap around Yoseob’s free wrist.

          The instructor stops, mid-step, and glances at Doojoon, amused. “Yeah?”

          Doojoon huffs, “Look, I don’t—”

          He’s cut off by one of the other instructors—cut off when one of the other instructors, when Yong Junhyung, suddenly appears in front of Doojoon, between him and Yoseob, shoving Doojoon back more than just a few steps with both hands on Doojoon’s chest. Doojoon stumbles, finding his footing quickly, and meets Junhyung’s glare with wide eyes. “It’s probably not the best thing,” Junhyung says in a low voice, one hand pushing Yoseob in other direction—the direction farthest from Doojoon, “to be manhandling your instructor when it’s only the second day of the session.”

          “Junhyung-hyung,” Yoseob says, not budging, no longer amused and clearly irritated, “Yah, hyung.”

          But Junhyung isn’t listening—his eyes narrow at Doojoon in a conclusive sort of way before he steers Yoseob back to the sofas. He steers Yoseob back to the sofas, but not before Yoseob sneaks one last glance back at Doojoon and for some reason—for the oddest, most unreasonable reason, when Doojoon meets the instructor’s gaze—

          He starts to wonder if maybe pigtail pulling is—like—retro these days.

Episode 3

Yoseob leans back in the pool chair and glances at Hyunseung. They exchange significant glances as, near one of the pools—while all the trainees finish the last of the day’s drills and head for the tower—Junhyung stands watch while Yoon Doojoon continues long past the ending time, splashing and sloshing back and forth while Junhyung’s whistle remains firmly clamped between his lips.

          “Wow,” Hyunseung says, almost impressed, “he really hates him.”

          “He’s being stupid,” Yoseob mutters, “So ing stupid.” He glances at his watch and estimates that probably in about fifteen minutes, Junhyung’s unreasonable anger will have dissipated after making Yoon Doojoon sufficiently exhausted and that way Yoseob can shake the older man off. “Hey,” he frowns curiously, leaning in towards Hyunseung across the umbrella pole, “who’s Kikwangie talking to?”

          Hyunseung blinks and sits up a little straighter, following Yoseob’s gaze to where Kikwang has stopped one of the trainees, “Oh,” Hyunseung bites his lip, clearly thinking, going through the names and faces they’ve gotten used to over the past two weeks, “I’m pretty sure that’s—um—Son—hm—Dongha?”

          “Why?” Yoseob asks, blinking. “Do you guys know him or something?”

          “We bump into his little brother a lot,” Hyunseung says, falling back into his chair, and taking his bottle of water from the table between them. “Their room’s on our floor.”

          “Hot?” Yoseob glances at the other man.

          “Very,” Hyunseung tips his head back and pours a stream of water into his mouth.

          When Junhyung leaves, Yoseob manages to send him off with Hyunseung and Kikwang, telling him that Yoseob needs to hang back just a bit to make sure that some of the equipment hasn’t been put away in the wrong shed because Squad M is in charge of the sheds and the last time it happened, Joon had thrown a hissy fit and it took his four other squad members’ combined strength to drag him away.

          It’s evening by the time the other three leave the water park, and despite the season, it’s late enough that the sky is starting to darken already. Yoseob waits until Junhyung, Hyunseung, and Kikwang are cleanly out of sight and through the water park gates—well on their way back toward the tower—before he approaches Doojoon.

          The trainee is still sitting in the water, chest heaving visibly even from where Yoseob stood at the chairs, Yoseob knows why—it happens to all the trainees, happened to Yoseob and Junhyung and Hyunseung and Kikwang. It’s the kind of exhaustion, the kind of frustration, that even when you’ve completed another day of training, even when you’re another day closer to the ceremony, you still find yourself angry with no reason to be.

          And Yoseob supposes that him picking on Doojoon just because he’s hot, coupled with Junhyung getting pissed off because he’s probably afraid that Doojoon is going to hurt Yoseob—Yoseob supposes that none of this makes it any easier on Yoon Doojoon.

          He doesn’t say anything when he reaches the trainee—he just steps quietly into the water and sits down next to Doojoon, the initial coldness of the shallow water soaking him through his trunks, through the hem of this uniform shirt. There aren’t any words between for a few minutes, just the sound of Doojoon’s breath evening back out. Yoseob simply waits in silence, waits for Doojoon to talk first.

          It’s another few minutes before Doojoon glances at the lifeguard. “What?” he says and his voice is resigned, not exactly angry, but definitely nothing close to happy either. “More laps? Or wading drills?”

          Yoseob looks into his lap, looks down. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

          Doojoon gets to his feet, then, and walks away, walks towards the pool chairs and tables without looking at the younger man. Yoseob bites his lip and sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before he stands up himself and watches Doojoon sit down on one of the chairs—the one holding the trainee’s shirt and towel.

          It makes sense, though. Of course it does—of course Doojoon isn’t going to be appeased with just that. In the past two weeks, Yoseob’s more or less turned an ordeal that Doojoon already expected to be ing hard into a complete living hell. It’d be one thing if Doojoon was actually slacking and needed more practice, more shaping up, more disciplining, but if it really got down to it, Yoseob would have to say that if not the best, Doojoon is up in the top five best trainees of this batch.

          Of course someone who wrote what Doojoon did on his application wouldn’t just lap up an apology.

          Yoseob starts back towards the chairs, stepping out of the water, and slipping his wet feet into his sandals. He stares at Doojoon’s back, the rippling muscles of the trainee’s shoulder blades beneath his tanned skin, as he dries himself—hair, arms, torso, face—with his towel. He doesn’t move, just continues to stand there, just a few feet behind the older man, and watches as Doojoon puts up his bare feet one by one on the edge of the table to try his legs.

          “Yah,” Yoseob reaches out before he can think, grabbing Doojoon’s shoulder while the trainee is moving his towel up and down his right leg.

          Doojoon whirls around, surprised. “What?”

          Yoseob points at Doojoon’s ankle, meeting the trainee’s eyes, alarmed. “You’re—”

          “,” Doojoon says irritably when he looks down. He glances up again at Yoseob. “Sorry, I—”

          “For what?” Yoseob says incredulously. “For bleeding?”

          Doojoon blinks.

          Yoseob puts both of his hands on Doojoon’s bare shoulders and shoves him into the nearest chair. “Just—here,” he says, kneeling in front of the trainee, and ping the pack attached to his waistband. Doojoon stays wordless while Yoseob takes out disinfectant and bandages, stays wordless while Yoseob sprays the liquid over the series of cuts and wraps the clear, bandage tape over the trainee’s ankle.

          “It probably happened during the wading drills,” Yoseob says quietly, repacking the bottle and bandages. “The downside to doing this in a water park is that most of the pools supposed to imitate caverns and beaches and stuff, and the resort uses real stone and gravel for that.”

          Doojoon bends down, fingertips grazing over the bandage. “Waterproof?” he asks quietly, sounding impressed.

          Yoseob gives a small smile. “Yeah—it holds better than that spray-on .”

          Doojoon meets Yoseob’s eyes and the trainee’s expression isn’t as dark as it was just a few minutes ago. “Thanks.”

          “No problem,” Yoseob says, smiling again unsurely. He stands up, and watches Doojoon wiggles his foot back and forth for a moment, testing its mobility and how the bandage stretches. He doesn’t know why he’s not walking away. Doojoon is probably tired, is probably still irritated at Yoseob, and standing here staring at the trainee probably isn’t helping. After all, despite the fact that Yoseob is the instructor, Doojoon is still older. “I’ll,” he says nervously, “I’ll—um—see you tomorrow, then.”

          Doojoon looks up as Yoseob turns to finally walk away. The trainee’s hand reaches out. “Wait,” he grabs Yoseob’s arm—grabs the younger man’s arm, and in the time it takes Yoseob to blink in pure reaction, Doojoon’s already immediately let go.  

          Yoseob raises his eyebrows, eyes widening. “Yeah?” he asks, surprised.

          “I’m sorry for—for—yesterday,” Doojoon says slowly. “You’re my instructor—I shouldn’t have grabbed you like—”

          “Junhyung-hyung,” Yoseob cuts him off with a quiet smile, “is my best friend. But I know when my best friend can be an overprotective . I’m just sorry that all the drills he made you do got you injured.” He hits Doojoon’s shoulder lightly with his clipboard. “Take a break—a few days.”

          Doojoon stares.

          Yoseob laughs. “What’s with that face?” he grins. “It’s stupid.”

          Doojoon blinks, his mouth falling open. “Yah—yah, my face—you—no,” he says indignantly. “And I’m not taking a break. I’ll miss things. It’s only a few cuts—”

          “Yeah, and only a few cuts can turn into an infection if you’re in the water all the time, running on the sand all the time, maybe if you fall on the gravel again?” Yoseob says coolly.

          Doojoon is quiet.

          “Take a break,” Yoseob repeats. “Just a few days—I’ll fill you in on whatever you miss, promise.”

          Doojoon looks at him for a long moment. Yoseob raises his eyebrows. Doojoon’s lips pull into a smile and he reaches out again, suddenly, pinching Yoseob’s cheek and pulling the skin until Yoseob has to slap the trainee’s hand away because that ing hurts. Yoseob slaps Doojoon’s shoulder as hard as he can. “Yah—yah, Yoon Doojoon,” he says loudly. “I thought you were just sorry for manhandling your instructor.”

          “Yeah,” Doojoon laughs, his eyes turning to crescents and crinkling at the corners. “But then you told me you can take care of yourself and—plus—you like me manhandling you, don’t you?”

          Yoseob just kicks the trainee’s good leg and sprints off toward the resort before Doojoon can say anything else that turns his ears the same color as his swimming trunks.