I don’t know when, but somehow, finals had managed to sneak up on me again. Finals were tested on the same week as they had since forever - the last week of the semester - but I could never explain why I was never prepared for it anyways. It was like they had some special cloaking device I wasn’t aware of.

So starting last week, I’d locked myself in my room, leaving only to head for school. Though not exactly sanitary, I might have bypassed taking a shower a few times. Stuffing a hat over my head without showering had the same appearance as wearing hat after washing anyways. I was saving time and water.

(The ecologists would have cheered at my determination to help save the environment.)

Plus, it wasn’t like I was the only disgusting person on campus either. Everyone in my department had grown to look something like I did. Dark circles hanging low under dead eyes and caps pulled low to hide greasy hair were like the fashion statement of our finals week; everyone wore major jackets and wrinkled blue jeans with three-line bathroom slippers like a uniform. And when everyone looked equally disgusting, it really didn’t look too horrifying.

(Everyone except Youngjae, anyways. He was always clean. Always with fresh clothes and not a single god damned wrinkle in his shirts. He wasn’t playing fair at all. He just had to be difficult and not fit in.)

And with me buckling down for finals and Jongup wandering soullessly around the house doing chores out of boredom - who the hell did that for fun anyways - our apartment was usually left otherwise silent. Which was good, in a way, for me. Given, I did break our built quiet with a frustrated shout every once in a while when the stress got too much.

(I swear I didn’t cry. I swear Jongup didn’t have to come into my room to hold me and offer me a warm mug of hot chocolate before I stopped wailing. Whoever said anything about Jung Daehyun crying is a liar.)

The only thing good about finals, was that when it was over, everything felt nice.

And that was the rush I was feeling - the screaming I mean - when the sent message flashed on my laptop screen along with that cute (I wouldn’t have thought of it as anything but pixels before, but today everything looked extra nice) envelope image. My last final essay for the semester had been sent; and just seconds before deadline too. This meant I was free - at least, until the next semester started.

I could have cried.

(Crying during finals was totally a justified course of action, mind you. Anything was excusable.

Anything except murder maybe.)

That final Asian history class had been, no doubt, a mistake. I’d missed class adjustment period and had been forced to take the lecture or face an impending F mark laughing in my face every time I applied for anything - because funny enough, even applying to teach a kid piano across the street required me to send in my university gpa in detail. (Why the hell did knowing when Genghis Khan was born matter in teaching piano anyways?)

“Hey, are you done?” Right on time - by that I mean that I could have dearly sworn Jongup had waited outside my door waiting for me to scream -, my door cracked open, a tuft of brown hair followed by curious eyes peeked in.

I grunted and he took that as an okay to enter my war zone, skipping over discarded balls of paper to set up station by my bed - admittedly, the only place without dirty laundry or crumpled heaps of paper scattered about. He took a seat on my bed, pushing aside unmade bed sheets to the side and offering me a plate of mini sandwiches he’d cooked up. He was a godsend.

I didn’t try to keep my manners; the second the sandwiches were between my fingers, they were dumped straight to my mouth and I went back searching for more. Jongup told me to slow down, but hey, he hadn’t been the one eating through a week of pointless finals.

(He in the end really didn’t leave the apartment.)

“My parents called.”

I stopped eating for a second to turn to him. My cheeks were full and I’m pretty sure I looked something of a deranged chipmunk, but right now, that wasn’t important. I’d witnessed first hand how less than pleasant his mother had been; her calling him couldn’t have meant anything good.

I waved for him to continue, swallowing thickly. All the sudden, I wasn’t too hungry anymore.

“Mother’s pissed.” It was odd hearing him speak like that. Jongup was normally all smiles and polite. “And Father wants me disowned - actually, he’s probably already started the process.”

He laughed, head tilt back as he leaned back against the wall. He caught my worried look - my not eating when there’s food in front of me - and shrugged, casually, as if he’d simply been regarding the weather. “I’m not surprised. It’s better this way.”

I worried for a minute longer before letting go when he poked a finger into my cheek.

He was smiling, so I could only hope everything was working out.

Our snack continued - though the neither of us were quite so interested in eating anymore - until Jongup spoke up again, looking so interestedly at his hands.

“I had another dream. The same one actually for the past few days.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I … was on stage. You know, which the ridiculous flashy clothes and the whole get up. And, everyone was looking at me. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared. It was like I was up there in my underwear and they were all laughing at me!”

I laughed and he hit me, though not as hard as I knew he could.

“And then … you were there all the sudden, in the crowd. You gave me a thumbs up and …” His eyes narrowed, bottom lip slipping between his teeth. “And then everything was alright again.

“I … I think I’m going to quit school. I’m gonna find what I want to do, not what my parents want me to do.”

Here he paused, screwing his eyes together before coming back up with a goofy grin. It suited him. Jongup looked better when he was smiling.

“I think I wanna dance.”