The sky above was, as usual, beautiful and clear. There were no signs of an impending rain as lazy ivory clouds floated past, forming fuzzy, fluffy shapes of random things. The breeze was just right: not too strong, but not too stagnant either. It was pleasant, enough to let pink flower petals billow delicately in the air. A peaceful silence accompanied the tranquil atmosphere outside: despite it being lunchtime, I heard no chatter from the students, no cheers from those who watched the soccer game that usually played at this time, no hearty laughter, no squeals, no noise.

It was quiet, and still, and it would have, should have been a serene, idyllic lunch break if it weren't for this unusual silence.

No squeals.

No laughter.

No noise.

It would have been a nice day if it weren't for the implications of these absences.

Exams.

I groaned, face closing in on my book as I slumped forward out of mental exhaustion. My cheek landed on the smooth surface of the mahogany desk, and I blew a stray strand of hair out of my face. My eyes blinked sluggishly, looking at the empty soccer field just outside the window. My head throbbed in pain, as if a hammer had been pounding on it for the past thirty minutes. All the information I've been stacking swirled inside my brain, creating a whirlwind of unorganized facts and mixed-up data. The mental stress spread throughout my entire body as my fingers  and feet refused to move when I commanded them to. I remained in that position, too tired to sit up.

Finals week.

Or hell week, as all the students would like to call it.

Well, for graduating students such as myself, hell week came a little too soon, a little too early to give us time to prepare for the graduation ceremonies.

And it was excruciatingly arduous. Because I was running for (first) honors, I felt the need to get a head start. Exams would not start until Wednesday, and I just knew that the others would cram their studies and commence their review on Tuesday, but I had no plans of doing that--not when my mother was expecting me to graduate at the top position.

"Remember why you're doing this, Taemin," I whispered to myself in an attempt to rejuvenate my fuel for learning.

For as long as I would study--no, for as long as I would live--I knew that pressure would never disappear. My mother's expectations have always set my standards, my measure stick. To meet and exceed them have been my goals, my drive to do the things that I did.

She was not like most parents who would concretely tell their sons or daughters to excel. She was not like those dictatorial fathers and mothers who shouted at their children for doing  horribly at exams, for not being at the higher end of the curve, for failing--which, I think, is a very subjective matter. No, mother was not like that. It was gloating pride and her cheerful disposition that told me all of those. It was her background, our family history and reputation that lay on my shoulders, endlessly reminding me of what I have to uphold.

"My Taemin is the best!"

It was ironic, because the weight of those encouraging words was heavy.

But then again, the pressure that I put on myself was heavier.

I knew that it would not have begun if not for the superiority complex that I had somehow developed through the years. I knew that our family business held no bearing as to what I should become, what I should strive for, but it did. I knew mother would have been happy with whatever result I gave, but that wasn't enough for me. I had to make her happier--it was what father would have wanted, would have done.

The pressure I had put on myself was crushing, fatal,  but it was something I honestly could not live without. It maneuvered me forward, and guided my actions.

Such pressure was my philosophy.

I guess you could say I bit more than I could chew, and that I had no choice but to swallow it. However, sometimes, I'd like to forget that pressure existed whenever I felt suffocated. I've already accepted the challenge of aiming for the best long ago, but every now and then, I would just like to throw those thoughts away, to spit out the morsels I couldn't fit in my mouth. Those would be times I felt my brain shut down, such as now, or when I was with the five of them.

The five of them.

I snapped out of my reverie and shot up, my thoughts jumping from one topic to another in a split second. I groaned again, recovering from the jolt, and slouched back down. My forehead hit the wood with a light thump, and I disheveled my hair out of frustration, sadness and anxiety.

Exams were one thing to be worried about.

The next was them.

Or her, rather.

Just like me, Noona and Jjong-hyung would be having their finals. And two weeks from now, the three of us would be graduating and moving on to another stage of our educational life. The only difference between us is that theirs would be one big step farther.

Too far for me to reach, to understand the way I am now.

I began to tap my fingers against the desk, the soft pit-a-pat sound creating a rhythmic melody that somehow consoled my feelings. My mind drew a blank; I didn't know what to do, what to feel. Here I was, with the first intent to study and ace my tests, and without realizing, I had once more entered my "trance" as Onew-hyung would like to call it, contemplating on things that a kid my age wouldn't even bother himself with. The five often teased me about my habit, that I liked to stare off into space and just think.

"I wonder what goes on in that little head of yours, Taeminnie!"

Noona would always be the first one to notice, of course, because that was what she was so good at.

Speaking of Noona, I should really--

"Ugh," I grunted, and lightly banged my head against the desk, as if to scold myself for being so scatterbrained. I did it again. Just like that, I had jumped to yet another subject and yet again to another subject. I knocked on my head in hopes of drilling some rationality and a sense of cohesiveness into it.

But nothing.

My mind drew a blank; I didn't know what to do, what to feel. And for the first time, I didn't know what to think.

Right there and then, I lost all the remaining motivation I had to study, and kept still, my eyes closed as if I had gone into some sort of meditation.

And then a face appeared.

It was Noona's. 

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone!

It's been quite a while, huh? I feel so sad for having ignored this fic ;A; 

Anyway, I bet all of you are wondering just what the hell is this chapter! It's a messy one, isn't it? I know I can say the same for the other and for those in the future. I just wanted to say that it's intented to be this way. Countdown is written in Taemin's perspective, so I wanted the style to also reflect Taemin's personality, which, as mentioned in this chapter, is very scatterbrained. He's a very reflective kid who likes to think about a lot of things :)) 

So mature >V< 

Anyway, I'll be adding an accompaniment chapter to Week 4 because, obviously, Countdown is supposed to narrate how the Lu Han's roommate spent the last seven weeks of her stay in her town. This chapter lacks this essence, so yes, get ready for Part 2 to Week 4!

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! 

Thank you for reading, subscribing and commenting!

I hope to hear from you guys!

P.S. I should probably explain that last line over there. It's supposed to signify that the protagonist is somewhat Taemin's solace, that is, whenever he's down in the dumps or feels lost, he'd go to her! That's how special she is to him. ;A; So presh.