After the initial surf lesson with Seungcheol, Jihoon sleeps for the rest of the day. Soonyoung, on the other hand, takes the opportunity to gallivant around town in his blue Audi, meeting the locals and seeing the sights. He has fun going around filming, asking the locals random questions, and eating as many hot dogs that he can eat. He’s used to travelling alone, but he feels that it would’ve been even more fun if Jihoon tagged along, but Soonyoung knows that Jihoon needs his sleep so he let it be.

Soonyoung returns with dinner to an empty house. He calls out for Jihoon, who’d probably still be asleep, and drops the food on the kitchen counter, with aromatic smells of Mexican quesadillas emanating throughout the room. The smell of food would definitely lure Jihoon from his slumber, but after tapping on his phone for a few minutes, Soonyoung senses that something’s amiss. He searches the whole house (including under the kitchen sink), only to find the place devoid of his best friend. Soonyoung ventures out to the back porch, calling out for Jihoon, thinking in disbelief that he’s lost Jihoon for the nth time in this trip alone. He spies a silhouette out on the beach, looking out to the late evening sky – it looks cinematic in a way, a lone figure deep in thought, facing the beach, framed by the glorious pre-sunset sky. Soonyoung would’ve scrambled to take a photo, but he swiftly descends the steps of the back porch to get to his best friend.

“Hoonie! What are you doing?”

Jihoon’s standing by the teeth of the water, and to Soonyoung’s little mind, he looks like he’s about to do something stupid, for someone so smart. Jihoon doesn’t answer Soonyoung’s question, turning around slowly to face his best friend. He’s dressed in his usual oversized sweater (just how many does he own, Soonyoung wonders), not like someone who’s ready for the beach.

“Jerry’s surf shop is just over there.” Jihoon points to the familiar wooden structure visible down the beach.

“I know, right!” All the negative thoughts disappear from Soonyoung’s mind, and he grins widely at the obvious statement.

“We could’ve walked!”

“We’ll do that tomorrow…?” Maybe he’s worried about his carbon footprint, Soonyoung thinks. True, it's a bit excessive, to drive to a place that's half a mile away.

Jihoon turns his back onto Soonyoung, facing the water once again. Soonyoung can’t guess exactly what Jihoon’s thinking, so he tries to pry it out of him.

“What’s new, Scooby Doo?” Soonyoung playfully nudges the smaller blond man. “I have Mexican fooooooood.”

Jihoon doesn’t budge an inch, and sighs.

“You wanna go for a swim?” Soonyoung prods on thoughtlessly.

“No, Soonie, I can’t swim.”

“Yes, you can. Remember fifth grade?”

Jihoon gives Soonyoung a sour look. “You don’t talk about fifth grade.”

“So I’m not supposed to talk about your baby , fifth grade…”

To Jihoon, fifth grade was a bad memory, just because of one incident. It was summer, and they were ten, and had signed up for swimming classes at the local pool. Scrawny Soonyoung bounced on his feet by the pool, as tiny Jihoon tried to hide behind his best friend. Soonyoung had been the one who’d convinced Jihoon’s grandmother that they were in dire need of swimming lessons, though Jihoon had argued that he’d move to the mountains if that’s what he needed to do to avoid them (even back then, baby Jihoon was already very savage).

So it had been five weeks of pure torture - at least to Jihoon - being forced to learn to swim; and the other boys (including Soonyoung) kept splashing water at him when the instructor wasn’t looking. Soonyoung was soon advancing quickly, swimming around the pool like an Olympian, while Jihoon still clutched tightly to his kickboard, reluctant to let go. He was always the last one to get into the pool during practice, after gentle coaxing from his coach and a sharp ‘YAH!’ from his grandmother, he’d slowly take off his T-shirt and descend into the shallow waters, his kickboard tucked neatly under his arm.

In those five weeks, Jihoon had only learned how to tread water. He’d refuse to let go of his kickboard – it was like his lifeline – and the other kids made fun of Jihoon because of it. Soonyoung, who was already a green belt in taekwondo by then, had offered to kick their butts for Jihoon, but Jihoon’s grandmother had found out and foiled that plan, telling Soonyoung off in front of everyone at the pool. When the other kids were off having swimming races with each other at the deep end of the pool, little Jihoon would be stuck with their patient coach, steadily splashing along on his kickboard; with his grandmother by the poolside, keeping an eye on him.

The only time he’d swum across the swimming pool with his kickboard was a great achievement for him. His instructor tried to transition him from a kickboard to a swimming noodle, but it obviously didn’t work. Jihoon felt safer on his trusty blue kickboard. Sure, he’d envied Soonyoung who’d sometimes swim over to encourage him, but he didn’t feel confident without his little kickboard. He seemed fine without it around the shallow end, but wouldn’t venture to the deeper end without it; knowing that his feet couldn’t reach the floor of the swimming pool. It was an irrational fear that no one could comprehend.

One day, Jihoon’s grandmother dropped Jihoon and Soonyoung off at the public pool, promising to come back later after running some errands. Soonyoung rushed off to the toilet for a much-needed pee, so Jihoon, with his ever-present kickboard, ventured out to the pool area. It was still a few minutes before the swimming lesson started, so there were only a few people around.

“Look who’s alone. Our little Jihoon.” Someone snuck up behind him. Jihoon barely had time to react, when his kickboard was suddenly taken away from him, and his arms were pinned behind him. It was the three kids who’d made fun of him and his kickboard; the jackasses who would cannonball into the deep end even though their coach had explicitly warned them from doing so.

The ringleader was a scrawny kid with crooked teeth; he was smirking at Jihoon, as if he was in charge. His friends, a pudgy boy and a lanky one, were holding Jihoon captive. Jihoon had never bothered to learn their names before; he’d never even spoke to them. Scrawny Boy twirled Jihoon’s kickboard in his hands, contemplating what to do. Jihoon can’t even struggle; Pudgy Boy had a strong grip – it was like being held by a sweaty sausage.

“Let me go.” Jihoon gritted his teeth. He felt disgusted by Pudgy Boy, but he was starting to feel scared, because he didn’t know what the three boys wanted. As far as he knew, he’d never done anything towards them.

Scrawny Boy suddenly motioned for his friends to drag Jihoon