(AN: I've had a hectic work week so this chapter is a little shorter than the first. As for The Fake Boyfriend Theory, I hope to update by Saturday, if not then by early next week. Sorry about that!! As always, comment if you love it, and pester me on twitter if you want!!)

Floundering. That’s what Kyungsoo is doing. Floundering, failing (there’s another f word he’d prefer. ing. It’s ing. Jongin, specifically. Correction—he’d rather be ed by Jongin). Three weeks have passed since the (absolutely rigged) test on the terrifying ledge (honestly why would they do that up there?), and Kyungsoo can’t keep up. The other students are assigned other teachers; Kyungsoo only sees them at the mess hall, or the bathing rooms (he tries the early morning baths but finds that a few extra minutes of sleep are more important than privacy so he sacrifices (only some) of his pride). But joy of joys, Kyungsoo, Jaehwan, and Moonkyu are assigned to Jongin.

The first day absolutely floors Kyungsoo. To walk out, only partially recovered from his wounded pride of the day before to see Jongin, same steely look in his eyes, waiting for them. It almost makes Kyungsoo throw a fit. Almost. Except he’s trying to be pleasant, to learn (after one day, such self control!) So he doesn’t. He settles for occasionally giving Jongin a dirty look (he doesn’t seem to mind it, which irks Kyungsoo. Get angry, for ’s sake. Care about what I think of you!).

But when Jongin barks an order at them, the realization (which had half-formed in Kyungsoo’s mind, but he’s wasn’t ever the sharpest of his brothers) that Jongin will be teaching them sinks in fully, Kyungsoo almost turns around and leaves (self control, he repeats, discipline and calm. The mantra isn’t as effective as he would like). They start off easy, according to Jongin. Easy means Kyungsoo’s sore and absolutely furious. He knows his legs and arms will bruise the most (it’s true, they do, a collection of purples and reds that eventually blend with the ugly yellow of the half-healed ones). Yet the worst feeling is that of Jongin standing over him, barking out orders, steps, stances, incessant and grating on Kyungsoo’s every nerve.

At the end of the three weeks, Kyungsoo decides he’s had enough. They’re practicing with staffs today, and Jongin has rapped him on the (the ! Kyungsoo’s pride and joy! Not to mention the pain he’ll be in whenever he sits) one too many times. Kyungsoo throws his staff on the ground, breathing quite heavily, and just stands there.

“It’s not rest time yet,” Jongin says.

“It is for me,” Kyungsoo snarls.

Jongin only raises a careful, calculated eyebrow.

“Pick up the staff.”

“Pick it up yourself,” Kyungsoo spits back, gritting his teeth against the dull throb of his whole body.

“What?”

It’s a threatening what, and for a moment Jongin’s cool exterior slips. He looks pissed, teeth slightly bared and brow furrowed. It’s hot. Wait, Kyungsoo corrects, it’s not, because he’s supposed to be angry now. He allows himself a second to indulge in the thought of Jongin angrily ing him (against the wall would be nice, but his heart decides on his soft bed in Hanyang), then wills himself to focus. And because he’s reckless and angry and sore and tired and this is all bull, he says,

“Stick it up your while you’re at it,” entirely too smug.

It’s almost funny, the way Jongin’s face morphs from shock to rage to seething fury before settling on some strange mix of all beneath a veneer of control. He must not be used to a challenge like this. Kyungsoo gloats; at last he’s done something to get a reaction from him. He even allows himself to wear a -eating grin. When Jongin notices, he snarls. Oh, , that’s really hot. Hotter than is probably healthy for the well-being of Kyungsoo’s…Not the best train of thought to follow.

It’s an eternity of silence. It’s easy to see Jongin calculating what to say and do next, and Kyungsoo’s is proud of that, of cracking that stony exterior enough to know that Jongin is unsure. But Jongin seems unwilling to break that silence; instead, he hooks the staff onto his foot and kicks it up (and catches it smoothly and wow, that’s really ing cool). Kyungsoo is distracted enough, between the gloating and the ill-disguised awe at Jongin’s really cool move, to not notice that Jongin has tossed the staff. At him. Directly. It hits him on the left cheekbone, just as Kyungsoo starts to move, and the clatter of it hitting the floor echoes.

Shock. And silence. And the throbbing pain that takes up half his face. Kyungsoo touches his cheekbone; the staff split his skin, just a bit, staining Kyungsoo’s fingers with blood. He looks at it, the bright red on his fingertips (he’s so entranced with this, in such utter shock, that he doesn’t see the flashes of guilt and worry on Jongin’s face).

“You absolute of a bastard,” he hisses (it’s not the best insult, but he’s a little too pissed to care).

When he looks at Jongin, the other is back to his stoic self, trying to conceal the flick of his eyes towards the wound.

“Why the would