i could use another cigarette;

i could use another cigarette;

He looked at the report card in his hands and it began to crinkle and strain under the pressure of his clenching fists. His parents told him . . . If he didn't pass all of his classes with an A average or above, they were going to force him to quit. That couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it.

But it made him so angry. All of his grades were good, he wasn't failing any classes, took extracurricular that would look good on a university application, behaved (well enough), the teachers liked him, he didn't fight, he finished his homework . . . So how was this happening? Why did his parents have to choke him like this?

His brown eyes narrowed dangerously at the paper, like he was trying to scare it into changing those high Bs to As.

A choking feeling swelled up in his throat and his thoughts desperately reached for the memories of his grandma, the one person who understood his almost-violent passion for dancing and what it meant to him. She lived with he, his parents, and siblings until she died a few years ago, but she had been the best. Every time his dad would begin to pressure him about school and his future and tell him that "this dancing nonsense" was only getting in the way, his grandma would berate her son for saying such terrible words.

"I thought I taught you better than that. Your father and I never denied your dreams of owning a business." she would say, and Hakyeon's heart would swell with adoration for her. She was always on his side.

And then she died and Hakyeon's parents just tossed her wishes aside. Hakyeon was strung up with words shaming failure, words disrespecting his passion, words ridiculing his choices. They roped him into drowning himself in studies and practically abandoning his after-school/weekend dance practices—and as the captain . . . His dreams were slipping farther and farther away.

He needed dance to breathe. To function. To live. To exist. Without the fluid moves that put people in awe, everything became stagnant and monochromatic and he wanted to kill himself. He didn't know how people lived without dance.

How could his parents think it was perfectly acceptable to snatch away the one thing that made him want to keep breathing? Standing just outside the school doors, he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check and thought about everything he could do about these grades. His parents weren't home yet and were probably too busy to check them online at the moment, so at least that bought him a little time.

Resolutely, he headed back inside the school and began to look for his baby genius computer whiz. After slipping the wretched slip of paper into his backpack, he pulled out his phone and began texting furiously, mentally categorizing what he was going to do and how long he had.

And he was, because this was a matter of life and death for him. Even though he had been playful over the messages, he was desperate now and there was no time left to change his grades. Not the moral way, in any case.

"You want me to what?"

Hakyeon sighed and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at his dongsaeng. “You heard me, Han Sanghyuk—and please, don't pretend to be all innocent about this. You blurted out about your little escapades with your last school’s database to Jaehwan, so don't think I don't know!”

Hyuk, under the pressure of his captain's gaze, fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Before too long, Hakyeon felt his self-control draining away due to the desperation of the situation. He suddenly leaned forward and clutched Hyuk's shoulders (maybe a little too tightly—he would have to apologize later . . .), his eyes practically watering up. "Please, Hyuk-ah, I seriously need you to do this because if not, my parents will make me quit the team, and I don't know what else to do! Dancing . . . It’s all I ever want to do, and without it, I hate life so much."

With widened (maybe slightly fearful) eyes, Hyuk stared at the absolutely do-or-die look on his hyung's face. After one more moment of nervous contemplation, he slowly nodded and the almost painful grip on his shoulders loosened and he was eventually let go.

Spinning his chair around to face the computer, he grimaced at the thought of hacking possibly landing on his record—again. But this was different, now that he thought about it. This was for a good cause, not just because he hated the principal of the school. His friend needed him. This was something for him to do right. There was a muffled but choked sob behind him and his resolution became absolute. He furiously began to type away at the computer.

While his precious friend did the work, Hakyeon strode about the room anxiously, obsessively checking the time on his phone between using Kakao to chat with Wonshik and Jaehwan. Wonshik seemed to be having problems with his dad again and Hakyeon was nothing but supportive, despite his own worries.

A half-hour later, his phone buzzed with a text from his mom, telling him that she knew grades were out today but hadn't checked them yet—but she would soon. His heart practically pounded out of his chest and he broke out into a cold sweat. This could be it, he realized—he was about to lose his passion for a very long time . . . If not forever. The terrifying thought made hot tears well up in his eyes and his throat began to burn and clench painfully. He would be damned if he let Hyuk hear him cry like this. How soon was soon?

Five more minutes passed. Jaehwan and Wonshik weren't surprised when they didn't get anymore messages from him.

Ten minutes. His phone was left abandoned near Hyuk.

Sixteen minutes. A chair groaned in protest as his limp body dropped into it.

Twenty-three minutes. The skin of his pale scalp began to turn red and angry at its painful contact with his nails.

Thirty minutes. Breathing began to hurt.

Forty-sev—

"Hyung," A hand was placed on his shoulder and he shot to sitting up, crazed tears staining his face. Hyuk looked completely shocked at the expression, but his face soon softened and he delivered a bright and triumphant smile. "It's done."

And then all at once, Hakyeon could breathe again.

His shoulders fell, his back slumped and every single part of him fell to emotional exhaustion. He grasped Hyuk's hand, a new wave of emotion washing over him and pulled him into a tight hug, repeatedly thanking him and saying how much his dongsaeng didn't know this meant to him. He muttered promises of I'm going to pay you back Hyukkie. and I seriously owe you—don't be afraid to ask me for whatever I can do for you. It was probably too much to say Hyuk saved his life, but he said he anyway.

He was going to be able to keep dancing. He was always always going to be able to dance—nothing could stop him.

I'm proud of your grades, Hakyeon. read his mother's text just minutes after Hyuk announced he was finished.

Your name is Cha Hakyeon, and you might get stuck in a love triangle.