It’s finals week, and everything is rushed, rushed, rushed.

            Students, only fueled by instant coffee and choked-down cereal, hustle around campus, backpacks weighing heavy between shoulder blades, minds full of sentences and words and numbers and stress and anxiety and relief, hands full of cups of coffee and tea and whatever else keeps them awake.

            Sehun is one of those students, rushing through the cold air to get to each final he has, fingers clenched around his pencil as he hunches over his desk, scribbling down information.

            One day turns into two, then three, then four, until finally, finally, Sehun is hurtling towards his last final.

            On his way down the hall that morning, Sehun feels lighter than he has in the past week, the weight of studying and highlighting and late night coffee breaks falling away because this last final should be a piece of cake. It’s an open-note exam, and Sehun still probably should have at least run over his notes the night before, but he had been too busy watching anime with Kai and Yixing, curled up on Yixing’s couch with his head in Kai’s lap and lazy fingers dragging through his hair.

            Thinking back on it now, Sehun realizes that Yixing had been quieter than usual, lost in his own thoughts for most of the night, and this causes a little furrow of worry to form between Sehun’s eyebrows.

            He makes a mental note to talk to Yixing and tucks it away for later.

            Sehun rounds the corner that leads to his classroom, mind on everything but the one person he suddenly spots farther down the hall.

            “Oh boy,” Sehun mutters to himself, straightening his shoulders and steeling himself for the confrontation.

            Kang-Dae spots Sehun almost instantly, tell-tale smirk lifting the corners of his mouth, and he begins to make his way over, for once not flanked by his friends.

            It’s odd how Sehun doesn’t really feel nervous, not anymore.

            Sure, he’s apprehensive, definitely on edge, angry because the last time he saw Kang-Dae was when he was being beaten in an alleyway.

            But the weeks have slowly swept away the panic, have merely made Sehun feel resigned when he thinks about seeing Kang-Dae at school.

           So Sehun shoulders his backpack, remembers to be thankful for the fact that his cuts and bruises have faded and disappeared, besides the faint white outline of a tiny scar right on the edge of his jaw, and forces his feet to move.

            The closer Kang-Dae gets, however, the angrier Sehun feels.

            Flashbacks of punches and blood and falling rain keep running through his mind, erasing all of the fragile information that Sehun had tried to cram in earlier this morning, eyes running over class notes.

            And by the time Kang-Dae is within arm’s reach, Sehun’s hands are shaking so much he has to stuff them into his coat pockets to keep them still.

            “Oh Sehun,” Kang-Dae drawls, still smiling as if the last time he had seen the other boy he hadn’t been lying on the cold ground, unable to move and soaked through.

            And Sehun keeps walking, shoving past him.

            He doesn’t have time for this.

            He’s not going to fight him because what will that solve? Ignoring is a much more successful route anyways. Sehun should know.

            That is, until a hand clamps over his upper arm, stopping him.

            Something inside Sehun snaps, and he turns, jerking out of Kang-Dae’s grip harshly.

            “ off, Kang-Dae,” Sehun says, the words bubbling up and out of his throat without thought.

            A few students close enough to be within hearing range throw the two wary looks, but Sehun ignores them.

            And before Kang-Dae has the chance to respond, has the chance to snap out of his temporary surprise, Sehun turns and leaves.

Yixing groans, banging his head down onto his kitchen table and making the dishes scattered across it rattle.

            His half-eaten bagel lies near his elbow, a cup of cold tea also nearby, but Yixing can’t bring himself to finish the bagel or heat the tea back up in the microwave.

            He should be worrying about the upcoming dance battle, which is set to happen in about a week.

            He should be practicing the choreo Kai came up with over a month ago, the same dance steps the three of them have been practicing for hours whenever they get the chance.

            What he shouldn’t be doing is worrying about the appointment he has in the next half an hour.

            But that’s exactly what he’s doing, of course.

            Yixing squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the glare of the sun that’s piercing through his kitchen windows and reflecting off of every surface, giving him an already bigger headache than he already has.

            He wouldn’t even be in this mess if he wasn’t a ing idiot in the first place.

            Because of course Yixing had ended up agreeing to give Jongdae more dance lessons that day in the park last week.

            Of course Yixing had somehow managed to waver with Jongdae’s words.

            Of course, Jongdae, sure, I’ll teach you.

            Of course, of course, of course.

            That was all Yixing seemed to say sometimes.

            So now, instead of finishing breakfast and then maybe taking some time during his break day to practice dance moves, or maybe just to take a break and just sit for a while, watching some mind-numbing television and eating ramen, Yixing has to be dressed, ready, and headed out the door to meet Jongdae for his weekly “dance lesson”.

            Yixing sighs and straightens up.

            He should actually be getting ready instead of moping about the thought of getting ready.

            After all, Yixing has learned that it’s easier to hold your breath and jump into something rather than sit still and worry.

Kai stares at his cell-phone in his hand, a familiar number lighting up the screen, completely floored.

            It’s a number that he hasn’t been called by, or called, in a long time.

            With shaky fingers, Kai answers the call, not really thinking about the consequences, and raises it to his ear, choking out a greeting through the lump in his throat.

            “Kai,” the voice on the other end says. It almost sounds like a question, but it’s not.

            The two would recognize each other’s voices anywhere.

            “Sun-hee,” Kai whispers, and he has to sit down on his couch at the faint exclamation the other gives at the sound of his voice, knees feeling too unsteady to keep him up.

            It’s with the utmost disbelief and confusion, and the slightest hint of exultation, daring to peek through, that Kai listens to the next words uttered by the other.

            “I’ve missed you.”

“You want me to what?”

            Kris winces at the words, embarrassment staining his cheeks pinker than the harsh winds outside had a few minutes ago.

            “I know it sounds crazy,” he begins, rubbing at the back of his neck, and the girl in front of him just gives him a disbelieving look, as if to say, “Duh.”

            “But I just need you to, okay?” Kris continues, desperate.

            He had been worrying the entire day about this, and as soon as work had ended, Kris had headed to the one person