Jeonghan counts. The train ride back from school is at least ten pop songs (each three minutes, give or take), a physics class takes up two whole pages of doodling, and every extended conversation is four careful nods and half a smile. 

Jeonghan counts. It's not a careless habit, this quest to quantify the largest of infinities. The Chinese laid out ten searching fingers and counted each. The Babylonians counted till base sixty - tracing each segment of their fingers and keeping track with the non-dominant hand. The Mayans even counted their way into the future and its eventual collapse. 

Measurement is hardly limited to one value; its worth is in the unlimited. If there is infinity, there is infinity and one more.

For Jeonghan, however, things don't add up. If he counts, it is not an ambition to pursue the colossal - it is an aching distinction of each moment from the next: I am alive now. I am alive now. I am alive now. Alive. Now. Alive. Now. Alive. Now - 

he breathes. 

He is alive. He is still alive. 

(He clutches onto this fact, and twists it inside out in a bid to examine what it might mean.)

Choi Seungcheol, on the other hand, is his classmate and class president. He sits on the last row, unsurprisingly, and has a brass booming voice that resonates in the room. But even without that, he's always got a knack to get people to listen. Maybe it's his smile - the whites of his teeth flashing without fail every single time, and the cheeky crinkle of his eyes - it's reassuring and knowing and lasts just long enough for one to lament when it fades.

If Jeonghan smiles, it's a tight-lipped grimace leftover from the days when he had braces, teeming with polite detachment. And if he speaks, it's an uneasy, uneven whisper that has people staring blankly at him. 

So he sleeps in class instead. It's not like he means to be disrespectful, or like he doesn't get enough sleep already. He's just really exhausted - between the weary drag of his skull and the caved-in stutter of his heart, every breath is an effort painstakingly exerted without purpose or effect. 

Sometimes Choi Seungcheol looks at him curiously, almost like a lost puppy, like he's somehow responsible for register number 23's conduct in class. But Jeonghan gets straight As, and he rarely gets into trouble unlike the other boys. It's one of his best traits - it's also one of his most defining trait: he's never been like the other boys. 

"You're going to sleep again?" Minghao says, meticulously writing the date down on his notebook. 

Jeonghan spares him a look. "Well."

"You can't always be this lazy, Jeonghan," Minghao chides half-heartedly, and Jeonghan tries to feel a bit more guilt or abashment at the rightful rebuke. "What are you going to do in university?"

"Die," Jeonghan says evenly.

Minghao glances over, startled into crossing his 'i's and dotting his 't's. It takes a whirl of the overhead fan before Minghao chuckles awkwardly. 

"You'll procrastinate death too," Minghao says cautiously, returning to his calligraphy.

Jeonghan glances out the window to where the school soccer team is training. If he squints he can untangle the scrawl of white into individual bodies, all undoubtedly sweaty and enthused with a spirit of belonging that Jeonghan doesn't ever think he'll understand.

Somewhere in that crowd is Choi Seungcheol, team captain and esteemed midfielder. He's the reason why the under-funded soccer team now has a full subsidy along with two regional championship trophies. 

"Hey, Seungcheol's waving at us," Minghao says, leaning over Jeonghan's desk to catch a glimpse of what looks like a termite from their window. 

Jeonghan gazes down at the hollering figure, and immediately looks away. 

He sketches what he imagines to be a grin - disembodied grey lips stretching, unblemished rows of teeth peeking out. Jeonghan wants to scratch it out so badly, but he's indecisive - it's incomplete, but it'll be better off incomplete. Just a pair of lips. 

"That looks good," Choi Seungcheol says from behind him. 

Jeonghan jumps - the classroom had emptied out with the ringing of the bell. He didn't think there would be anyone left. Definitely not Choi Seungcheol.

"Have you always been drawing?" Seungcheol says again, "You're really good at this."

Jeonghan nods absently, but remembers to smile. "Thank you."

Seungcheol settles into Minghao's seat and takes an appraising look at Jeonghan's other doodles. Jeonghan scoots back in his seat, wary of the butterfly kisses Seungcheol's lashes have bestowed upon his arm. 

"They're really good," Seungcheol says, and flashes a smile that forgives all of Jeonghan's ineptitude. "By the way, do you wanna get lunch? Everyone's in the canteen." 

He would really rather not. "Sure."

The best thing about crowds is the anonymity they provide. Jeonghan hadn't needed to say anything in the disconcerting noise pollution in the canteen, neither does he now; a Saturday night interschool soccer competition is the last thing he expects himself to be roped into. 

Kwon Soonyoung and Kim Mingyu are pressed up against his side, freshly acquainted friends-of-Seungcheol who are currently too close. The hot sticky buzz of their voices and coarse, stinging cheers are meant to be motivating, but Jeonghan can only feel an earthly weight digging into his throat. He thinks he should scream too, but the rest of the world is already drowning him out. 

He wants to leave. Seungcheol's puppy eyes can it up. 

The scores blur into each other, and every wave of agitation presents itself in the same crescendo. Someone is whispering hotly into his ear, and someone else is dropping their popcorn. Jeonghan presses crescent nails into his palm, tightly winds every last sulk of disappointment into his fists. His head bobs uncertainly against the fervour, and threatens to spill.

"WE WON!" Kwon Soonyoung shouts into Jeonghan's face, streamers and confetti trickling off his shoulder. 

SCOUPS [11:24pm]: hey!!!!!

SCOUPS [11:24pm]: sry i missed u justnow

SCOUPS [11:24pm]: team wanted supper :)

SCOUPS [11:25pm]: im glad u came!!!!!

Jeonghan rolls onto his back, squinting at the glow of his phone screen. The green bouncing circle next to Seungcheol's number stammers to a halt, and stares expectantly at his hovering thumb. 

SCOUPS [11:26pm]: r u online??

Jeonghan locks his phone and buries his head in his pillow. 

angel1004 [11:29pm]: yeah it was fun :)

angel1004 [11:29pm]: thanks for inviting!!!!!

angel1004 [11:29pm]: u should rest!!!!

SCOUPS [11:29pm]: im glad u came!!

Seungcheol makes it a point to invite Jeonghan to everything from then on; helping teachers with boxes, lunch, soccer matches, catching the train home. Seungcheol wedges himself firmly in the static of Jeonghan's routine, and smiles so hard Jeonghan thinks it might crack up the rest of his face. 

Jeonghan notes now the number of times Seungcheol's eyes flicker up to the train schedule, or the way he taps his feet more urgently when his stop's arriving; class streams by easily with every stolen glance, and every other reciprocated look. His chest blooms a warning red too easily now, and he can't be sure if it's fear or something more complex. But if being breathless is an indicator of love, then he's spent his entire life preparing for this. 

Some mornings are the worst.

Jeonghan wakes up an hour before his alarm, and spends it wisely by contemplating the aching silence of the dark. The looming absence of light terrifies him - he can't see his own hands, nor his body, and for the briefest of moments he wonders if this is what it feels like to be dead. The calm, uneasy and free, engulfs him. 

When the first hint of light races through the curtains and redefines the boundaries of his body, conjuring shadows and highlights where something should exist. He cautiously presses a hand to his face, fingers padding gently against damp, swollen flesh. The burden of a body, of being, weighs too heavy. 

His phone rings, incessant - but this time it's Seungcheol's ringtone. 

SCOUPS [7:48am]: jeonghannnnnnnnnnnnnnn

SCOUPS [7:48am]: r u here

Jeonghan breathes in deeply, feels his ribs draw upwards, contract unsteadily; his chest still shakes, an epicentre in itself, and he has to imagine a heart beating hard, an intricate system of nerves struggling to keep this body alive, before he can swing his legs off the bed. I am alive now. I am alive now. I am alive now. Alive. Now. Alive. Now. Alive. Now - 

he breathes again.

Seungcheol interlaces their hands, and slots himself beside Jeonghan easily whenever the opportunity presents itself. It's flattering, really. Jeonghan doesn't stop Seungcheol from whispering awed praises about his doodles, or the way he smoothes a hand over Jeonghan's hair.

Minghao doesn't comment on it, but his extended silence is statement enough. 

SCOUPS [1:28am]: bunnycactus.gif

SCOUPS [1:28am]: lololololol

angel1004 [1:28am]: lololololol

angel1004 [1:28am]: cute haha

SCOUPS [1:28am]: ikr!!! so cute!!!!

angel1004 [1:29am]: !!!!!!!!!

SCOUPS [1:29am]: hey

angel1004 [1:29am]: hey

SCOUPS [1:32am]: ok so this might be weird

SCOUPS [1:32am]: but like

angel1004 [1:33am]: ???

angel1004 [1:33am]: cheol??

SCOUPS [1:35am]: so remember when i saw you drawing

SCOUPS [1:35am]: i might have had a crush on you

SCOUPS [1:35am]: like, way before that

angel1004 [1:38am]: oh

angel1004 [1:38am]: uh

angel1004 [1:39am]: are you asking me out

SCOUPS [1:39am]: yeah

SCOUPS [1:39am]: you're smart and gorgeous and calm and

SCOUPS [1:41am]: it's like soemthing clicks yknow

SCOUPS [1:41am]: i think i like you a lot

angel1004 [1:43am]: i kinda like you too

SCOUPS [1:43am]: :''DDDD

angel1004 [1:44am]: :''DDDD