I had to keep remind myself, I couldn’t expect too much from Daehyun’s first grade evaluation.

My legs shook uncharacteristically in anxiety as I waited for Daehyun’s return to the classroom, where he’d told me to wait. (I would have waited even if he didn’t tell me to.) Today was just one of his many retakes and I’d promised him I’d wait for him (sending good energy his way) while he took his tests, but now, I sort of wished I was at home. How was I supposed to react if he came back with a less than acceptable grade? Maybe my text, I could send him my condolence, but how was I supposed to react by face?

Just as I contemplated running away – like the coward I was – the back door to the classroom slid open, revealing a dazed Jung Daehyun standing just outside, halfway into the hallway and half in the warm room.

I instantly stood up (regretting it when a dizzy spell shook me back to bump against my desk), “How did you do?” My voice sounded pitched, like an obnoxious squeak from a prepubescent teenager. I wanted so desperately to tell me he had done amazing, but by the look of his face, I couldn’t predict his words at all.

He frowned a little, blinking (too many times too fast), as he made his way toward me, in his hands the paper that, for sure, marked his English grade.

“I … I did …”

I didn’t like the way his voice shook. It gave me conflicting feelings. Maybe I should have run away after all.

“Youngjae, I got a ninety one.”

I fell then, my legs giving out on me.  If it hadn’t been for Daehyun, who instantly was by my side, supporting me with his hands on my waist, I probably would have fallen, knocking over a number of desks and chairs on the way down. The little bastard. “Y-yah!” I whimpered, slapping him weakly in the chest, “You scared me!”

Scared? Had I really been scared? Anxious maybe, but scared?

Had I really cared enough for his grades to be scared for a low grade?

“S-sorry,” Daehyun gasped between choked laughs, barely defending himself against my throws of fists. “I couldn’t help myself! Your reaction, it’s just too,” his words broke as he broke into another round of laughs, sliding down with me onto the floor, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes.

He’d worried me sick. For the first time, I’d felt like I was going to throw up, not by the finger down my throat, but in the sickening worry. (And I couldn’t figure out whether I preferred this feeling over the one of my finger.)

“D-don’t cry,” he smiled, laughs fading out to faint hiccups, “I swear I won’t do it again.”

I slapped him a last time, wiping my eyes, “I’m not crying.”

I let him pull me into his arms, thumping me gently on the back to stop my whimpers. We stayed like that for a little while longer, his arms wrapped around me, and my hands clawing into the hem of his uniform.

Until we were interrupted anyways.

“Youngjae?”