i could use another cigarette;

i could use another cigarette;

Taekwoon's behavior was reminiscent of the time before he met Hakyeon or any of the others, before he joined dance as a stress-reliever. He hardly ever sat at the lunch table anymore and he didn't look at them—or anyone else—for more than five seconds. He was short-tempered and snappish, glaring at anyone who even breathed his way, and constantly had his nose buried in either a book or a grossly large stack of work.

It had been a few weeks since the . . . incident with his teacher. His mom discovered it, of course, and wasn't happy. Not only was he grounded then, but he had to apologize too, through bitter, clenched teeth. Another thing about it was, that particular teacher went to ridiculous lengths to be careful and sympathetic with him, as if he were some rusting cog ready to break the entire machine.

This rusted cog was about to make everything explode if it didn't get what it wanted.

Still, he got his redo from both his and his mom's urging, yet . . . It didn't make him feel better like he hoped. He just felt worse, and it kept getting worse.

What didn't help? Mr. Seo, the particular teacher, offering him counseling or to see a counselor—Taekwoon didn't need to see anyone. He didn't need to talk to anyone about some falsely perceived problems he didn't have.

Mr. Seo insisted though, said it would help him figure out his feelings. Why did he want to know? He didn't. He didn't want to know either of those things. He was too sca—

. . . Taekwoon was conscious enough of himself to know something was clawing at his mind, but facing it meant discovering fault, and Taekwoon did not have faults.

Taekwoon flattened his palm against Jaehwan's cheek and shoved him away. The side of Jaehwan's head nearly hit the trunk of a near tree until Hyuk caught it and pulled him towards him. Jaehwan was laughing.

"I don't see what's so funny about nearly cracking your head open." Hongbin sighs as he takes down notes.

"I don't see what's so funny about bothering me." Taekwoon deadpans, also writing.

Jaehwan snorts, leaning father back onto Hyuk. "Lighten up," he rolls his eyes, "You've been such a buzzkill lately."

It's quiet for a moment; tension, a roped pulled too tight, threading snapping bit by bit, holds them up. Taekwoon's blood begins to simmer.

Wonshik raises his eyebrows and glances from Hakyeon to Taekwoon to Jaehwan. "Hyung, I don't think—"

"Do you have a ing problem with that?" Taekwoon looked up, tone calm.

Sanghyuk shrunk back, still holding onto Jaehwan who just snorted again. "Maybe I have a problem with you," he challenged.

Angry heat began seeping into Taekwoon's skin; the thought of ripping Jaehwan to shreds relieved him a little from it. He didn't know what Jaehwan's damn problem was, but he didn't do anything for it and he sure wasn't going to take any of his .

He closed his folders and began slipping things into his bag.

Wonshik reached his hand out. "Hyung, wait," he tried, but Taekwoon wanted to snap at him because Wonshik—always the mediator, Wonshik, always the good one. He didn't want to be pacified by anyone at the moment, not even Wonshik.

He glared at the hand and Wonshik retracted it.

Hakyeon bit his lip. "Taekwoon . . ."

And Taekwoon even stopped, because of all them, Hakyeon was different. Had a different level of understanding with him that even Wonshik couldn't have yet.

Forcing relaxation into his shoulders, he looked back and watched Hakyeon pack up his things too. Part of him wanted to tell Hakyeon to stay, calm the rest of them down. His irritation was dying down, no longer blurring Wonshik's dejection, Sanghyuk's tiredness—and yes, he wanted to kill Jaehwan, but . . . And Hongbin just didn't look up at all, like he didn't care.

Hakyeon placed a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head with a sigh and shrugged it off, walking away. Hakyeon didn't forget to wave back to the others with a reassuring smile.

"Let me come over to your house." Hakyeon said, expecting Taekwoon as always to say yes.

Taekwoon didn't bother with a reply because Hakyeon would just come anyway.

Whatever intrusive questions Hakyeon had trailed Taekwoon moving around his room, trying to busy himself with anything but the magnetic force Hakyeon had.

Tendrils of guilt already crept through his veins before they got to his house, slithering around all his internal organs and squeezing. They'd all been having a pretty bad time of things already, but here he was trying to cause a rift between them—all any one of them had—because he couldn't get himself together. It only helped prove he was a machine slowly becoming obsolete . . . Maybe it was time to retire his model.

"Taekwoon," Hakyeon must've repeated for the fiftieth time. "C'mon, sit down."

Taekwoon stopped and looked at him patting the spot on the bed next to him. He didn't want to sit. Sitting entailed something else, things he didn't want, realizations he couldn't handle.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Then he remembered Wonshik's face, and how Sanghyuk looked scared. Jaehwan wasn't wrong, he knew he'd been acting terribly lately but what did they want him to do about it? It wasn't even his fault—if his teacher had just—

"You're thinking so loud, jeez." Hakyeon yanked on his wrist, pulling him down onto the bed. He yelped, all but falling into Hakyeon's side, and when he got a hold of himself, he glared. Hakyeon just rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn't do anything.

Now that he sat, an itch made his hands fidget; he couldn't sit still or calm his heartbeat. Not embarrassed, not nervous, he was . . . He didn't know. The itch was so intense—he wanted to claw off his skin and bang his head against a wall—

Of course Hakyeon noticed (nothing made it past him,) and he only sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately. "What's up with you?" he softly worried. "And don't tell me it's nothing because you've been acting really weird for a while now. We know—"

He cut himself off with a lip bite and Taekwoon narrowed his eyes.

Hakyeon sighed. Taekwoon looked down at his tight fists on his thighs. "It's only school." That wasn't a lie; school really was stressing him out, but that was only skin-deep into the root of everything. He didn't have time to sit around and work it out though, he was just wasting valuable study and work time.

"You know I know you're lying, right?" Hakyeon snorted, pulling his hand away. "If you don't wanna tell me, fine. But could you at least . . . I don't know, not snap at us? Hyukie always looks like he's on the verge of tears and Jaehwanie's like, at the end of his rope with you."

Wasn't Hakyeon here to comfort him? Because it really didn't feel like it. Heat floods his body and he shoots to his feet. "That's his problem." he snaps. Hakyeon sighs again. "God—Hakyeon, if you were just going to-to be like this, just leave." He shoves his fingers through his hair, ready to tear it from its roots.

Hakyeon stands too, staring Taekwoon down. "Stop acting like we're not here!" he argues, red at the ears "Like—Like we're just stressing you out. If you didn't want to be our friend anymore, the you could just say something!"

Anger isn't something often outfitted on Hakyeon in, but when he does wear it, even Taekwoon admits intimidation. He gapes back with a racing heart because that's something he's never even considered, leaving them behind has never crossed his mind despite the numerous time he wanted to smack them silly.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but instead angry words come out. "Fine, I don't want to be your ing friend anymore, or anyone else's! Now GET OUT!"

Time suspends as Hakyeon mirrors what Taekwoon must've looked like a moment ago—mouth open, eyes wide—but then his turn burning and shiny instantly. Taekwoon's heart plummets into his stomach; he just messed up badly.

Real time resumes and Hakyeon stomps from the room and down the stairs—Taekwoon cringes with every step, throat constricting. The devastating slam of the door quakes through his body.

Legs weak, he collapses to the ground, jerking at his hair and gasphing. You ing idiot. He could barely form a coherent thought through his anger and self-hate, but before he could spiral too far, the phone rang.

He stumbled to his feet, rushing down the stairs and almost tripping to where he left his bag. He shoved his hands into it, hoping—hoping it was Hakyeon or Wonshik, or anyone. The caller ID failed him with his mom instead and he collapsed to the ground again in exhaustion, trying to gather himself together.

"What took you so long to answer?" She was stern and clearly not in a good mood. Taekwoon swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Sorry mother, I was in the restroom."

"You sound out of breath, were you messing around?"

"No mother, I had to run down the stairs to get to my phone."

"Why wasn't your phone with you as usual?"

Taekwoon bit back a sigh, not trusting himself to not scream in frustration if he let slip. He loved his mom, but she was very difficult to deal with . . . Then again, he'd rather deal with her than with his dad.

"Have you gotten that mess with your teacher sorted out?"

He nodded though she couldn't see it. "Everything is better now. I'm sorry, mother."

She was quiet for a moment, and he knew she was contemplating whether or not to accept his apology. She didn't. "You're lucky I decided not to tell your father."

His throat tightened more and he pulled away from the phone to cough out what he thought might be vomit. It wasn't.

When he pulled back, she was onto him again. "Are you getting sick again? Aren't you taking care of yourself? You need to be better about this, Taekwoon. Just because your grades are slacking, doesn't mean your health should too."

He didn't know how to take that. Prioritize his health over his grades, or don't be a failure in his health like his grades? He bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut to calm himself down. "I'm sorry mother." he repeated.

She sighed. "Stop apologizing. The more you do it, the more worthless it is." His heart sank. "I only called to check up on you, I have a meeting soon, so I need to go now. Try not to be so thoughtless again, understand?"

"I understand, mother." he replied. She hummed in approval and then hung up without sending her love.

He dropped his phone on the floor and fell over, gasping even heavier and losing his head.

Fifty missed calls and what was probably hundreds of text messages later, Taekwoon thought he successfully exiled himself from his friend group. He didn't have a problem with it (that's what he was telling himself) and he was sure they didn't have one either. He noticed the most came from Wonshik; Hongbin and Hakyeon had barely tried. There might've even been an apology from Jaehwan.

To no one's surprise, isolating himself didn't help at all. When he was at school, students avoided him because of his heavy atmosphere; when he was at home, his parents only talked to him about his grades and future. The only person who he even thought wouldn't shut him off or down or turn him away was that teacher—the reason for this stupid, ridiculous spiral in the first place.

Suffice to say, Taekwoon felt more alone than ever.

Being as he was though, he threw himself into his work. What else did he have? He was a smart student; diligent and hardworking, so he thought to be better, he needed to be even more diligent, even more hardworking.

He started skipping out on dance practice despite their choreographer's calls. He stopped answering calls from anyone else, in fact, if they weren't his mom or dad, who would usually lecture him. Then he started skipping out on lunch; he hadn't been so hungry recently anyway, and being in the lunchroom wasn't something he wanted, so he just ate small snacks in the library while studying and doing extra credit work.

All of it became routine, and then he would go home. Sometimes the house would be empty, sometimes his mom would be there, sometimes his dad. If he was alone, he just put on music and did more work. Did anything to keep himself busy. If he finished everything, he made more work to do. If his parents were home, they'd just talk to him about work or his grades.

His grades weren't good enough, they insisted, they weren't high enough, they insisted. Being class number one just wasn't enough, they insisted.

Taekwoon agreed. None of it was good enough.

He stayed up late too many times, studied hard too many times, got headaches and nosebleeds, but it wasn't good enough. He wrote so much, typed so much, wrapped up his hurting wrists, but it wasn't good enough. Lips chapped, eyes dry, hair unkempt, not good enough. This dumb body acting like a broken machine, making it more difficult to finish all that had to be done, wasn't good enough.

"Taekwoon."

He didn't look up from his work because he didn't need to. "Mr. Seo." he acknowledged.

Mr. Seo took the seat across from him and his eyebrow twitched; he bit back a harsh comment.

"Working hard as ever, I see." Mr. Seo's tone was coaxing and kind, and Taekwoon wanted to glare at him until he went away. "Have you been taking as good care of your health as you have been your work?"

His grip tightened around the pencil. "I have." he replied, level.

"I haven't seen you at lunch."

That was when Taekwoon set the pencil down and folded his hands tight together. "It's usually not in the nature of teachers to keep track of every movement of their students."

Mr. Seo met his gaze evenly, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Taekwoon was impressed.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Seo?" he asked. "I have a lot of work to do . . . I'd like to finish it."

"I won't be long." Mr. Seo replied. "I only came to check on you. It seems unusual that a star student has so much work, as if he were behind, but I'm sure you have it under control. Just don't forget to take breaks, alright? Be kind to yourself, Taekwoon. If you won't yourself, you won't let anyone else either."

Taekwoon's nails were digging into his palms by now and he wished this teacher would just leave him alone . . . Talking like he had any idea what was going on in Taekwoon's head or his life. It was arrogant and rude.

But Mr. Seo continued to smile, and then nodded once. He glanced over all Taekwoon's work and then turned away, walking off.

Taekwoon's heavy glare followed him out, and then caught peek of several heads that dodged behind a bookshelf as soon as he spotted them.

Heat seared through his body from embarrassment and irritation. He slammed all his things shut and shoved them into his backpack like he'd been doing so often lately, finger almost catching in the zipper, and then slung it over his shoulder.

Storming through without regard to his surroundings, he passed the bookcase where they were hiding and then flung the door open a few feet away.

The others looked at Hakyeon's downcast face.

One—two—Swing.

One—two—Swing.

One—two—Swing.

One—two—Swing. One—two—Swing. Swing. Swing. One—two—two, two, two, two—Swing swing swing swing—

Taekwoon screamed, leaning into the punching bag as it shoved into him and threw off his balance. He tapped his forehead against it, once, twice, pounded into its side once, twice, bounced his head against it once, twice—

his fists into it once, twice, three times, four five six seven eight—

Began beating his head into it one two three four five six seven eight nine ten elev—

Lost his balance again, and then finally collapsed to the ground, heaving breaths, sure his forehead was bleeding.

Wailing on a punching bag wasn't helping him at all. Exhaustion only made him feel like he was dying, dying, dying—which hurt his whole body that couldn't carry as much as it used to. This stupid, broken body. He really wished he was dying.

" . . ."

Students passed, minding their own business as they always did. No one was asking why someone was standing in the middle of the entrance courtyard, staring up at the sky. Or what they thought was the sky anyway.

It would've been safer, staring at the sky, but that's not where his line of sight fell. This school was one of the ones that only put fences up at the top around and after exam time, when students were more prone to do . . . stupid things. It was neither of those times though, and there was no fence up there.

He sighed. Better today than later.

Hakyeon and Wonshik watched him walk off, and then looked at each other.

Taekwoon spent the better part of the day distracted, so far ahead of all his work that he could afford it. Chin plopped in hand, his eyes bore out the window, watching the clouds gather; must've been in accordance with his mood that weighted heavier every passing moment. He glanced at the building's fenceless ledge again, and then sighed, laying his head on the desk and feeling tired as ever.

It'd be better soon. He just had to wait for lunch.

The teacher's voice droned through his head, trying to keep him focused, but he was really done trying to stay so. Luckily, he wasn't called on in class, leaving room for him to think.

Wasn't he supposed to write a type of letter? What was it supposed to say? Something like a goodbye letter, wasn't it? He didn't have anyone to say goodbye to, and anyone he did . . .

No. He didn't have anyone to say goodbye to, and it was fine that way. Less work. He deserved that, less work.

Then again, if he didn't do this properly, his parents would probably rag on him about that too.

The clouds overhead were ready to spill any moment, but Taekwoon had a sneaking suspicion they were waiting for him so they could clean away his mess. The air on the school's roof was penetrating; cool and blowing, and if he were a leaf, he'd fly a way. That was sort of like what might happen.

No one else was on this side of the building and he was grateful since it gave him peace of mind and room to think. Walking further into the open, the breeze made him shiver, permeating deep into his body and clenching his hands. He walked past machines and other pipes and outlets towards the roof's ledge, and then leaned on it.

Instead of looking down, he just looked across to the roof of trees and the path of streets sat a little too far below. Now that he was here, everything seemed much smaller; then again, it always had before, when he was with friends. They were the kings of the world, wild and free and away from all their troubles. They were with each other.

But Taekwoon didn't have that anymore, friends. He didn't have anyone anymore, save for parents who shoved him towards their set finish line and sisters who couldn't even look his way. Somehow, he always thought it might come to this.

Instead of turmoil though, there was a sense of peace. That's how it usually was, right? He was at a finish line he set for himself, not someone else's where he had to break his back and drain his blood to cross it. No. He could waltz across this one, satisfied.

He leaned back from the ledge and shrugged off his backpack. It fell to the ground, leaving his body tons lighter. The wind could carry him more easily this way, so he was all for it.

Sighing, he prepped his hands on the ledge, wincing from the strain his own weight put on his wrists. They hurt so much from writing and typing all the time, but if he could do all that, he could do this too. Just a little more . . .

There wasn't anyone down below, he saw before, no one to alert anyone else. No one to stop him. He pulled himself up and sat up on the ledge. Still not looking down, he began to feel how high it was. Nothing to sneeze at, not that he was sick. He didn't have to look down to know this height would work.

The wind was gentler now, soft but still cool against his exposed skin. Light goosebumps ran on his nape as he tapped his fingertips against the cement of the ledge. It felt nice. A nice experience, because the wind on the way down . . . probably wouldn't be so soothing. He smiled a little to himself.

Up until this point, he'd rushed through everything. Through waking up and coming to school, picking a place and sitting through class, but now that he was here . . . he really just wanted to take a minute to soak it all in. The place where he spent so much of his time, so much time wasting away and being ruined; it felt a little like justice that he was bringing his own salvation and ruining this place a little at the same time.

Steady, he pushed himself up to his feet, still not looking down.

With a calming breath, he closed his eyes, leaned his weight slightly forward, and—

"T-T-T-Taekwoon . . ."

Taekwoon shifted back, nearly tripping the wrong way and his heart pounded in his chest. Eyes wide open, he looked over his shoulder. Hakyeon.

The look in Hakyeon's eyes was the same before he stormed from his house all those weeks ago—shiny and burning, and his hands were clenched into fists.

"T-Taekwoon . . ." he repeated slowly and softly, like he feared Taekwoon might jump if he was any louder. "Wh-What . . . What are you doing up there . . ."

Taekwoon stared at him, eyes wide and heart pounding heavier. What did it look like was doing? He couldn't think of a reply, so he just stood.

A few steps behind Hakyeon was Wonshik, face torn in fear and eyes already streaming tears, and farther back was Jaehwan trying to shield Hongbin and Hyuk from seeing, but he could see their expressions—horrified, clear as day.

"Here, Taekwoon, f-focus here," Hakyeon snapped his fingers lightly, like he always did to catch attention. "Please . . . Please come down."

Taekwoon locked his newly shaking gaze on him and opened his mouth. "I . . . I can't." he responded.

Hakyeon slowly shook his head. "Taekwoon, please listen . . . Please, please come down. You d-don't need to do this."

That same anger from before flickered to life. "No." he bit. "I do need to do this. I need to do this. I need to do this." Though it suddenly sounded an awful lot like he was trying to convince himself. Now the ledge was so high . . . But he clenched his fists by his sides and began turning.

"TAEKWOON!" Wonshik screamed, and he froze again, clamping down on his lip. "Taekwoon—god—, please—"

"NO!" he screamed back, still not turning around. "No . . . None of you understand! Why are you doing this to me?! I just want to be free! I can't—I can't keep doing this anymore . . . I d-don't want to . . ."

"Stop acting like we're not here!" Hakyeon bit out, voice cracking. "Just—Just talk to us!"

Taekwoon clenched his eyes closed, tears beginning to burn at them. "I'm so tired. I don't want to be tired anymore. Just please . . . Please . . ."

He leaned forward again, only to scream when yanked back. He crashed to the roof ground, right into someone's lap.

Wonshik was suddenly sobbing into his ear, loud and sick, arms bound suffocatingly around his waist.

The world moved ten times slower around him; the foggy sound of rushing foot steps, people crowding around him, pulling at him every which way, all crying, hysterical—

Hakyeon sobbed his name repeatedly, trying to hug him, but Wonshik wouldn't let go, like he thought Taekwoon might break free and jump off. Hyuk's warm hands clutched at his own, pulling and yanking to where Taekwoon vaguely worried he might pull them off.

Hongbin and Jaehwan were trying to break him free, Jaehwan crying obscenities at him and Hongbin just plain crying.

It was hot and suffocating and he couldn't breathe, but before he knew it, he was sobbing too, grasping back onto Hyuk, shooting off apologies to Jaehwan, filling the space between Hakyeon and Wonshik even more, telling them all he was sorry, he was sorry sorry sorry—

Hakyeon pulled back and wrenched at his collar, shaking him. "I can't believe this!" he wailed, face red, "Why would you do this?! You're worth so much more than that! You have a whole life ahead of you and—" He buried his face into Taekwoon's chest, quaking.

Wonshik's tears ran down the side of his face and neck, muttering incoherent things about Taekwoon leaving them, and he could hear Hongbin asking him Why, you always had us? Why did you shut us out?

He didn't know. He didn't know.

But what he did know was that he hadn't felt this warm and whole in a long time.

Your name is Jung Taekwoon, and you don't have time for this.