POV: Ara
The beach was too bright.
That was my first thought as we stepped onto the sand—too bright, too open, too exposed. Sunlight reflected off the water in hard shards, forcing most people to squint or shield their eyes.
The air smelled clean in a way that almost felt artificial, salt and heat and sunscreen layered together.
Students scattered immediately, shoes kicked off, bags dropped in careless piles. Laughter rose and fell with the waves.
Normal.
This was what a school trip was supposed to look like.
I stopped near the edge of the sand and scanned the shoreline out of habit. The beach curved gently around the bay, enclosed by rocky outcroppings on either side.
The water near shore was clear, deceptively calm, but further out the color deepened, waves breaking unevenly where the current shifted. Strong pull, I noted. Unpredictable.
"Thinking about swimming?" Jun-ho asked.
He stood beside me, towel slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up. The sun caught in his hair, turning it a shade lighter. He looked…relaxed. More than I'd seen him yet.
"No. Thinking about who shouldn't." I said. He followed my gaze toward the deeper water. Minjae was already sprinting toward it. "Of course." Jun-ho muttered.
I watched Minjae charge straight into the waves, laughing, letting the water knock against his chest like it was a challenge. Other students cheered him on from the shallows. "He's going to get pulled." I said.
Jun-ho didn't answer right away. His posture had changed—weight shifted forward, attention locked.
The water surged harder than Minjae expected. A wave crashed into him at an angle, knocking his feet out from under him. Laughter turned sharp, uncertain.
Then Minjae disappeared beneath the surface. I exhaled slowly.
Jun-ho was already moving.
He dropped his towel and ran, shoes forgotten, cutting straight into the water. He didn't hesitate, didn't shout. He timed his entry between waves, dove under the next crest, and surfaced just as Minjae came up coughing.
I watched Jun-ho grab him—not clumsily, not panicked. One arm locked around Minjae's chest, the other controlling his shoulder, keeping his head above water while angling his body sideways to the waves.
Control.
They fought the current together, Jun-ho using the waves instead of resisting them, letting each surge push them closer to shore.
When they finally staggered out of the water, drenched and breathless, a cheer went up from the beach.
Minjae bent over, hands on his knees, laughing between coughs. "Okay—okay—I'll admit it—that was—" Jun-ho shoved him lightly. "Idiot." Jun-ho muttered. "You came after me." Minjae straightened, grin wide.
Jun-ho's expression didn't soften. "You don't mess with currents you don't understand." He told him.
For a moment, Minjae looked like he might argue.
Then he nodded. It was brief. Barely noticeable. But it mattered. I hadn't moved the entire time. My heart hadn't raced. My hands hadn't shaken. I'd known Jun-ho would reach him in time.
That realization settled somewhere deep and uncomfortable.
—
The beach settled into a lazy rhythm after that.
Students spread towels, some wading cautiously into the shallows, others lying flat under the sun, eyes closed, music playing softly from a phone. The island felt distant here, reduced to sand and water and sky.
Jun-ho approached me later, holding a small plastic bucket someone had abandoned.
"Shell collecting. Apparently." He said. I glanced at the bucket. Inside were fragments of white and pink, smooth and broken in equal measure. "Most of those are useless." I said.
"Then help me find better ones." He smiled.
We walked along the shoreline together, close enough that our shadows overlapped. The water lapped at our feet, cool against the heat of the sand.
I bent occasionally, picking up shells that caught my eye—unbroken spirals, pieces with unusual patterns. I handed them to him without comment. He accepted them the same way, no questions, no jokes.
Silence again.
But this one felt…different. Softer.
I noticed the way he slowed when I slowed. The way he waited without making it obvious. When our fingers brushed once as I passed him a shell, neither of us pulled away immediately.
I told myself it meant nothing. Connection didn't have to mean attachment.
Still, I was aware of him in a way I wasn't aware of anyone else—the sound of his footsteps, the way his gaze moved, steady but never invasive. "You draw." He said suddenly. "What?" I paused.
"I saw you yesterday. Sketching. At sunset." He continued. I looked away, embarrassed despite myself. "Sometimes."
"You capture things well. Even when you don't talk about them." He nodded. That surprised me. I studied his face, searching for irony or flattery. There was none. "Thank you." I said finally.
We resumed walking.
I wondered when he'd started seeing me clearly.
—
Jisoo's concern cut through the afternoon like a hairline crack. We'd regrouped near the towels, sharing drinks, the earlier excitement settling into contentment. Jisoo sat cross-legged, bottle of water untouched in his hands. "I think we should be careful." He said quietly.
A few heads turned.
"About what?" Someone asked. "The staff. Their behavior. The way they communicate. It's not normal." Jisoo said. "You're still on that?" Minjae laughed. "I'm serious. They avoid us when they talk on their radios. I heard raised voices near the maintenance building this morning." Jisoo insisted.
"Probably just logistics. You're overthinking it." Another student said. Jun-ho didn't dismiss him outright. He listened.
I watched Jisoo's hands tighten around the bottle.
"They locked the north path today. No notice. Just…blocked it off." Jisoo added. "That happens. Maintenance." Someone said. Jisoo looked around, searching for support.
I met his eyes and nodded once.
He saw it.
It didn't help.
"Look. We're on a beach. Sun's out. Nobody's dead. Let it go." Minjae said, stretching out on his towel. Laughter followed. The tension dissipated. Jisoo fell quiet. I filed the moment away.
Dismissal was dangerous.
—
The minor fight broke out near the volleyball net.
It started over nothing—a bad serve, a sarcastic comment, pride bruised in the heat. Voices rose. Someone shoved someone else. I stood before I realized I was moving.
Jun-ho got there first. He stepped between them, hands open, posture relaxed but unyielding.
"Hey. This isn't worth it." He said calmly. "Stay out of it." One of the boys scoffed. Jun-ho didn't raise his voice. "Take a breath." The other boy hesitated. Just long enough. Jun-ho shifted his stance slightly—not threatening, not aggressive. Grounded.
Control again.
The tension bled out of the moment. Someone laughed it off. Apologies were muttered. The group dispersed. I watched Jun-ho walk back, expression neutral, as if he hadn't just defused something that could have spiraled.
He didn't look proud.
He looked tired.
—
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in layered gold and orange. The water reflected it all, shimmering like it was on fire. Most students packed up, skin warm, voices hoarse from laughing. The beach slowly emptied.
I sat on a rock near the edge of the sand, sketchbook balanced on my knees. I didn't draw people.
I drew horizons. Lines where things met but didn't merge—sea and sky, light and dark. I was shading the edge of the sun when Jun-ho approached, quiet as always. He didn't interrupt. Just sat nearby, close enough to feel his presence. "You always choose the edge." He said eventually.
I didn't look up. "It's where you see the most."
He considered that.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the smell of salt and something metallic underneath. A sound cut through the air. A scream. Sharp. Distant. Brief. Laughter followed almost immediately from further down the beach.
"Someone's getting dunked." A student called out.
I froze, pencil hovering over the page. Jun-ho stood slowly. The scream hadn't sounded playful to me. But the moment passed. Noise returned. Normalcy closed over it like a wave smoothing disturbed sand. Jun-ho glanced at me.
I closed my sketchbook. The sun slipped below the horizon. And for the first time all day, the warmth felt thin.