i could use another cigarette;

i could use another cigarette;

With every knock, his already-steel resolve strengthened even more. He wasn't going to open it. Didn't they get that?

Whatever, it was them wasting their energy, not him. While they were wasting their time, he was actually spending his on something useful. Thanks to Sanghyuk, he had been able to snag his math teacher’s notes and compare them to his and his work because he needed to correct his grade, which was too low for his liking. Well, two grades actually.

More like five.

Or eight.

But the amount of papers to correct was beside the point; he was just secretly grateful to the maknae for getting the rubric and notes.

Just about every two hours, he would stop what he was doing and flop onto his bed for a twenty-seven minute nap ( not a second more, not one less ) and then start working again, switching between math, music composition, writing, and science. The floor around his desk was littered with crumpled up sheet music and papers filled to the brim with writing. None of them sounded right. None of them had the delicate, smooth flow he was looking for. They weren't eloquent enough for him.

“How do you do that?” Hongbin asked incredulously that day at lunch, shaking his head while he watched Taekwoon work with not one, but both of his hands, in two separate folders, on two completely different subjects.

Taekwoon simply ignored him, too engrossed in his work to care that the people around him thought he was strange. Just because they wasted time, didn't mean he had to. He still needed to finish his morning work because his oldest sister wouldn't stop nagging him about eating. Which he didn’t. He would eat on his own time.

“He’s a machine!” Jaehwan chanted loudly, causing more than a few heads to turn in their direction. On that note, he and Sanghyuk whirled in on a subject about some sci-fi show that Taekwoon didn't care about.

Before he could really get back into his work, someone started bothering him again. Why was there always someone? As a weight settled next to him, his knuckles turned white around his left pencil. Everyone was bugging him. Everyone was being annoying. Everyone needed to leave him alone.

The pair of folders slapped shut and Taekwoon slipped them into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder, annoyed.

He got up and started to walk away from the table, but before he could get far, someone grabbed his wrist. He snapped his head back to look down at a frowning Wonshik. He narrowed his eyes and even though Wonshik seemed pretty unfazed, he let go a moment later anyway. Taekwoon marched out of the lunchroom, feeling eyes on his back all the way out.

Apparently, it was one of those days where his friends didn’t understand that he was working.

Wonshik watched him go and then looked at Hakyeon who was also watching. “He didn't even eat anything . . .”

Two days later

“Are we all going over to Jaehwan's house?” Hongbin asked as the boys walked down the hallway.

The rest of them made noises of agreement, but Taekwoon kept quiet.

“Aren't you coming hyung?” Hyuk asked, leaning forward to look at the other.

Taekwoon shook his head and didn't say anything else. He was too frustrated to deal with talking to his friends or concentrate on taking a breather. Students were handed back important essays and Taekwoon’s grade . . . It gave him a headache just thinking about it.

“I have to go.” was all he said before turning down a different hallway to find his literature class. The other five watched him leave and then looked at each other.

Hyuk cleared his throat. “We should follow him.” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Jaehwan made an exclamation of agreement and excitement, shooting his pointed finger down the hallway Taekwoon went down. Wonshik and Hakyeon looked at each other, frowning.

Taekwoon ran a hand through his hair while staring at the door to the teacher office. He expected his teacher to still be there, looking over papers and hoped that no one else was around. After taking a deep breath, he quietly slid open the door and looked around the room. It was empty, save for just the person he was looking for and he felt a temporary swish of relief.

The teacher looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow at seeing Taekwoon standing in the doorway, but smiled a moment later. “Taekwoon-ah, is there something I can help you with?” he asked, looking back down at his other work.

Choking down the thick nerves in his throat, Taekwoon walked towards his teacher with resolve and took off his backpack when he was closer to the work desk. He through his folders and binders until he came to a thin, translucent folder. He set it onto the desk ( right in front of the teacher ) and bowed his head. “My grade . . .” he managed to say, motioning to the grade number written. “It shouldn't be that.”

The room was quiet for a moment; neither the teacher nor Taekwoon heard the five pairs of quietly ( or as quiet as they could be ) shuffling feet near the cracked open door.

The teacher let out a good-natured sigh and then took the essay into his hands, opening the folder to check over the notes he left on it. After a brief reading, he looked up at Taekwoon and his intense gaze. “Taekwoon-ah, I hope you understand that I gave you this grade for a reason. This is what the content and presentation of your essay worked up to.”

Feeling his face heat up slightly, Taekwoon bit the inside of his cheek harshly. He needed to be calm. Be calm, Taekwoon. There’s no need to get worked up. Behave. Calmly explain yourself and why you think you deserve a better grade. He closed his eyes for a second and then looked back at the teacher, opening his mouth to talk.

From outside the room, Hakyeon and the others listened in. Hongbin peeked over Jaehwan's shoulder with a frown. “What kind of grade do you think hyung got?” he whispered.

Hakyeon seemed confused and looked over at Wonshik, who just seemed troubled. “Taekwoon’s grades are probably the best out of all of us, on average . . . It can’t be that bad.” Hakyeon explained softly while they watched the scene.

From where they stood, Taekwoon’s shoulders were stiff and his voice was low as he responded to the teacher tersely. He almost seemed . . . hostile.

“What do you think the grade was?” Jaehwan murmured.

But before anyone could take a guess, the teacher seemed baffled by the fact that ( frustrated and heated ) Taekwoon wanted a perfect grade, rather than the 98 he got.

“A 98?!” Hyuk couldn't help but blurt out. Both the teacher’s and Taekwoon’s heads turned in the small group’s direction. “Oops,” Hyuk squeaked, and then they were all running to the nearest restroom.

When the coast was clear ( Jaehwan ducked his head out to see the teacher huffing and walking back into the office ), they tiptoed back near the office.

“Is it . . . really a good idea to stay?” Hongbin worried, glancing up and down the hall.

Jaehwan clicked his tongue. “Aren’t you curious about what Taekwoon’s so worked up about?”

“Yeah but – ”

“Shut up,” Wonshik hissed as they saw the teacher near Taekwoon again.

The teacher placed his hands on Taekwoon’s strained shoulders comfortingly. “Taekwoon-ah, we both know that a 98 is an absolutely fantastic grade, especially for such a difficult subject. You should be proud, because I am. In fact, I was actually considering entering your essay into a scholastic conte – ”

Taekwoon, red-faced and glaring, violently shook his shoulders from the teacher’s comforting grasp and snatched up his nearly ( nearly wasn't good enough, wasn't good enough wasn't good enOUGH ) perfect grade and practically shoved it into his teacher’s face. The teacher took an alarmed few steps back and his hand instinctively traveled to the nearest defense – in this case, a pen.

“This trash can’t be entered into a scholastic contest, don't you see that?!” Taekwoon practically snarled, seething with hostility and rage. The teacher could only stare at his student with shock and maybe even a hint of fear. Hakyeon and Hongbin flinched at the sudden outburst.

“I'll rewrite the paper, I’ll do whatever you want me to – I just – need a perfect grade!” Taekwoon insisted almost desperately. None of his friends had ever heard his voice be this loud before. His body quaked and his hands clenched around the transparent folder as if his life depended on it – and maybe, in a way, it did.

Inside the office, it was uncomfortably quiet aside from Taekwoon’s labored, stressed breathing. The teacher finally let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Taekwoon-ah . . . I think you should go home for today and rest a lot. Drink lots of water and eat healthily. If you really want to, we can make an appointment to go over your paper and . . . see what we can change.”

Taekwoon could hear ( could hear only too well and he couldn't stand it – he wanted to scream loudly at the teacher because he knew, he knew, he knew he couldn't understand ) the unsureness in his teacher’s voice, but he was suddenly so tired and so sad. He didn't have the energy to argue or beg with someone who didn't get it . . . He barely had the energy to deal with his own anger and stress.

He took a step back and practically dropped the top half of his body forward and deeply. Even though he was still angry and secretly seethed with something like hatred for the teacher, Taekwoon knew his behavior was . . . disgustingly unacceptable. There was no chance that he would ever forgive himself.

Kindly ( but cautious as ever ), the teacher ruffled his hair and then sent Taekwoon on his way.

The five friends scrambled away from the office once the door on the other side slid open. Taekwoon saw the tail of one of their backpacks disappear around the corner of another hallway. Their footsteps grew distant.

When Taekwoon got home, he stiffly pushed past his sisters and his mother and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day. He flung his backpack across the room and chucked the essay folder onto the wooden flooring. After taking off his school uniform jacket and carelessly tossed it over the back of his chair, he began to pace his room.

For an hour, he strode back and forth. He ran his hands through his wind-blown hair and violently rubbed at his face. One of the buttons on his uniform shirt popped off and rolled across the floor after he tugged on his collar a little too hard. He ran his clammy hands up and down his arms repeatedly, shaking his head back and forth and kicking the essay folder around whenever it got in his way – as if that might make him feel better.

Maybe it did.

From his desk ( papers scattered everywhere from Taekwoon slamming his hands down onto the surface more than once ), his phone vibrated several times, but Taekwoon didn't care. Taekwoon didn't care. He just didn't care. Nothing anyone could say would soothe him or make him hate himself less. Especially if it was one of his friends. He couldn’t believe them – they probably . . . They probably thought he was some sort of obsessive, psychotic .

At that thought, Taekwoon froze in his place. They . . . wouldn’t ever actually think that about him, would they?

After a long moment’s ( which turned out to be another twenty minutes ) contemplation, he collapsed onto his bed.

His thick pillow was the only thing that stifled his sobs.

Your name is Jung Taekwoon, and here you are, on the edge.