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The first time when the notes appear it's Tuesday.
It’s nearly midnight, and Minho is going back home from the library, way too exhausted to even look straight in front of him without the will to collapse. The weight of the laptop feels extremely heavy on his back, and his shoulders are tingling with pain. And the only feeling Minho has is to dissolve into universe because she is cruel and has no mercy.
But as he comes closer to his door – still white and crisp – and starts looking for the keys in his pockets, a bright pink spot catches his eyes. He comes closer, looking at his own door as if he sees it for the first time, and raises his hand to trace fingers over the sticky piece of paper.
Someone left a note.
It’s not a noise complaint. Not even a reminder written on it. Minho gulps, tearing it down to get a closer look in his hands. Slick black ink there looks almost surreal.
‘Cheer up!! You can do it ^_^’
And for the first time in a long, tiring day, Minho bursts into laugh instead of usual tears.
*
“You sure they are anonymous?” Jeongin asks, leaning over library table.
It’s quiet today, because it’s finally weekends, and, perhaps, they are the only idiots to spend their Friday evening there.
“Yes, I’m sure, I have eyes,” Minho says tiredly, brain not really comprehending the sequence of words coming out Jeongin’s mouth.
“Maybe you didn’t look on the other side?”
“I did,” Minho shrugs. “Nothing.”
Since Tuesday, the notes started to appear every other day at the same time – after Minho comes back home late from studying. The connotation of the message is same, mostly, just cheerful and encouraging messages with cute emoticons and exclamation marks. But it’s already something that Minho holds on to dearly, and it’s the only thing that manages to keep him sane in the chaos of mid-terms and exams.
“You have no idea who it can be?” Jeongin asks, trying to bring Minho’s attention back. “Maybe people you study with?”
“We’re science major, Jeongin,” Minho rolls his eyes. “Science major students don’t have soul, we lost it after first mid-terms.”
“Valid,” Jeongin huffs. “But what if? Who else it could be?”
Minho doesn’t really have a lot of acquaintances, leaving alone actual friends, so the question puts him at a stand, making him think. Not like Minho is a bad person – he is definitely not – but he can’t even thing of a someone who would go this far just in attempt to cheer him up.
But the mere fact is oddly satisfying, though.
“No idea,” Minho mumbles, and looks down at the book beneath him. Words doesn’t really make sense anymore, as his brain is obviously a mush from a stressful week, and the secret identity of a person makes his head pumper even more. “What if it’s a stalker?”
“Hyung.”
“What?” He groans. “I’m running out of actual ideas.”
“So that’s why you think of worst,” Jeongin sighs. “Maybe someone has a crush on you.”
Minho lets out a forced laugh, lips curling into a small smile. “That is more possible, than stalker.”
“I can’t believe you,” Jeongin’s laugh follows along, and they fall into comfortable silence again.
Yet Minho’s head is still full of questions.
*
It’s stupid. Childish, cheesy, naïve, and stupid. But instead of throwing sticky notes with messages away, Minho starts collecting them in one of his notebooks, neatly gathered between pages.
He can’t quite justify that action. Just, one day, the amount of notes on his table grow bigger and bigger, and Minho doesn’t have a heart to get rid of them, so the childish, stupid and naïve idea of collecting the notes sticks around. Only because Minho appreciates the effort put into it.
And maybe because not only the messages, but the neat, almost artsy handwriting on them makes his heart flutter. Just a bit.
Can you even have a crush on handwriting?
Stupid. Minho shakes his head, going through the pockets in search of keys. Today’s note was saying ‘you look great even when you’re tired ^^’ with a tiny drawing of the dinosaur at the bottom, and for some reason it makes Minho’s cheeks flush with pink, as his face gets hotter.
But as he realizes that his pockets are empty, and no keys in sight, the flustered mood quickly switches to a panicked one. Quickly, Minho throws his backpack on the floor and squats nearby, dumping everything inside on the floor: laptop, pens, books and notebooks.
Still no keys.
It’s hard to get Minho in the panicked mood, even when he is overwhelmed, but the stress and hectic schedule from previous weeks kicks in, and he feels his head pounding and tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.
“Stupid fucking keys,” he groans – not in sorrow or sadness, but more in desperation – hot tears streaming down his cheeks now. “This has to be a fucking joke.”
Recalling the events of today Minho realizes that, most likely, he lost them somewhere in the library, and even if he wanted to go and look for the damn keys, it’s already too late and the library is closed. Minho doesn’t have a roommate either – a bonus that now is taking a toll on him – so the only way is either to try staying at Jeongin and Hyunjin’s room, or sleep right there on the streets.
Dramatic much.
“Hey, you’re okay?” The voice strikes through the empty dorm halls and Minho shudders, not really wishing for someone to see him. “I was in my room and heard some noises, and--,” the person sucks in a breath, obviously nervous as well, “I can leave you alone, if you want.”
Wiping tears from his cheeks, Minho turns around and almost gasps. Right in front of him he recognizes a familiar figure, seeing the face way too many times during classes and lectures. “Chan?” Minho tries to sound decent but his voice breaks somewhere in the middle. “What are you doing here?”
Chan bites down on his lower lip, almost shyly, shrinking down in his black oversized hoodie that almost swallows him. A small dimple appears at the corner of his lips, indicating that he is trying to contain smile. “I am living here? For several months now?”
“Didn’t you live on a fourth floor?” Minho asks with a pure and utter confusion.
Chan comes closer, smile on his lips now seeming rather bitter. “I think you were too busy to notice, but yeah, we moved.”
“Oh,” Minho clears his throat. “Cool.” As the words leave his mouth, Minho mentally slaps himself, cursing out his own reaction.
Bang Chan wasn’t a friend, not even an acquaintance in Minho’s understanding of this word. But it was hard to find a person who wouldn’t know who Chan is – a golden boy, with a nice reputation and warm heart, always offering help to anyone who needs it. Minho and him shared nothing apart from major, couple of classes, and, perhaps, portion of good looks, exchanging with small and meaningless talks only when necessary. And in Minho’s picture of the world, their paths shouldn’t have crossed at all.
Apart from one time he thought he had a crush but that’s a shameful history of his first-year experience – now he knows better than to fall for perfect people.
Perfect?
Minho shakes his head.
“So,” Chan says, and starts swaying on his feet. “Did something happen? Why are you on the floor?”
The question is so awfully comical and absurd, that Minho bursts into laugh, with tears still streaming down on his face. He covers his face with both hands, letting out series of incoherent and muffled noises, feeling as if something inside breaks, reaching a turning point. “This is so fucking stupid,” Minho croaks, voice husky and pitched at the same time. “The exams are way too tough this time, and I don’t even know how to put all of that into my head because it feels too small, and now the fucking keys—”
“Keys?” Chan retorts in surprise.
“Yes, keys,” Minho says, rubbing his cheeks in nervous motion, wiping tears. “I lost the fucking keys, and the world fucking hates me, because I’m a fucking loser.”
There is a moment of a tensed silence, only low whimpers and huffs echoing through the hall. Minho thinks Chan just gave up on him all together, but suddenly a hand touches his shoulder carefully and he sees Chan crouching down near him. His eyes are not mocking – gentle, and full of compassion, as he smiles. “Look, I can’t fix all of your problems, obviously,” he says softly, soothingly gripping on his shoulder, “But my roommate is staying over at his boyfriend’s place today, and I can offer you a room to sleep until you figure everything out.”
Minho looks up, gaze wandering across Chan’s face. There is nothing but sincerity and genuine interest, way too pure to be real. Minho knows that, in theory, he can call Jeongin up and stay at the dorms nearby, but Chan is here – so compassionate and gentle, and Minho is way too tired and burnt out not to give in into the act of kindness.
“Okay,” he mumbles, the answer surprising both of them. “If you insist.”
At that Chan laughs, helping Minho to gather everything in a backpack, hands swift but careful.
“Yes, I do.”
*
Chan’s room feels different.
It looks the same, if you think about it – one small window, a table placed near it, two beds, and a one big closet. No more than Minho has.
But it’s different. He sees it in a set of heart-warming photos stuck on the cute board hanging under the table, in a wolf plushies laying on the bed, in the variety of blankets stocked neatly on the floor, in the way the whole room smells like sandal wood and vanilla, instead of the dampness that Minho is used to feel at his own place.
Chan’s room feels alive, and it seems that it heals you even when you’re just standing in it.
“I’m sorry if there’s a mess,” Chan says sheepishly, with a half-smile on his lips. “I’m busy with studying as well and my roommate doesn’t appear here at all,” he huffs. “People in relationships.”
“Yeah,” Minho clears his throat, still standing near the door. He fiddles with his fingers, not really knowing how to act or behave, because as welcoming as Chan is, they aren’t that acquainted.
Chan’s eyes suddenly open wide, and Minho supposes he realized same thing as well. “Oh, you can take Jisung’s bed!” He exclaims, way too enthusiastically, and grabs Minho by the elbow, leading to the bed. “As I said he hasn’t appeared here for a week, so the sheets are clean and you shouldn’t worry.”
“I am not worried,” Minho huffs, placing his backpack on the bed. “But if I were that Jisung guy I would be mad.”
“Screw him,” Chan says and bursts out into laughter. It’s cute, as he is now a splutter of dimples and eye smile.
Minho feels something tug inside and quickly clenches his fists, nail digging into skin. “Wow, you’re such a great friend, Bang Chan,” Minho places hands over his heart dramatically. “I thought you’re putting all your friends in a bubble wrap so they won’t know any struggle.”
“I tried,” Chan says, and his voice is rather serious, as if he’s not joking, and actually has bubble wraps stocked somewhere. “But the kids will rather die than be put in bubble wrap.”
“You do understand you’re not their father.”
“Try to spend one full day with them,” Chan rolls his eyes and Minho laughs at that, throwing himself on the bed.
The blanket covering it is soft and smooth, of nice pink colour, so Minho can’t help tracing his fingers slightly over it.
Yes, this room is, indeed, healing.
Some minutes pass – approximately half an hour in Minho’s head – as they try to settle in and get used to each other. Chan gives him a pair of sweats and a hoodie to sleep in, as the nights get colder, and then politely excuses himself to the showers, as if giving Minho time.
And Minho is thankful.
When Chan is back, his dark hair is still a bit damp, sticking out in different directions, and his skin, where it shows, looks slightly red. Something about the whole look screams ‘domesticity’ – word glowing red and in caps in Minho’s head. He sighs, trying to cover his obviously flushed cheeks.
Those stupid notes made him more of a romantic than he is.
“It’s kind of late,” Chan says, throwing away the towel in a laundry basket. “You’re not planning to study, right?”
Minho snorts, because he did plan this, but something about Chan’s perfect grades tell him that he was not the only one. “As if you don’t,” he voices his thoughts and Chan clicks his tongue, sitting down at the table near the window. It is near Minho’s – Jisung’s – bed, so he looks as Chan leans back in his chair, arms stretched up. His shirt rolls up slightly, and Minho catches some part of his skin showing, looking for way too long.
Minho clears his throat, turning the gaze away. “I was planning to draw,” Chan says, taking something that looks like notebook closer to himself. His hands rest on it for a few seconds, as if he is thinking something through. “Do you--,” Chan starts, sucking in a breath. “Do you want to look?”
Minho’s heart seems to stop as he is holding a breath. “As you draw?” He asks in confusion, hoping his voice sounds even and calm.
“Yeah,” Chan says, eyes still glued to the notebook in front of him. “Some people like to watch,” he shrugs, finally opening at and taking a pencil in his hands.
“Well, I don’t,” Minho mumbles, bundling up in the blankets on the bad. The one he has at his room is thin and itchy, so fluffiness and softness coating him feels nice.
“Okay,” Chan replies, without sulking, to Minho’s surprise, and hovers over his notebook as the sounds of pen against the paper fill the room.
There is something enchanting in the way Chan looks while drawing, that’s why, solely unintentionally, twenty minutes later, Minho lingers near the boy, observing as simple lines on the paper turn into something more complex and sophisticated. His hands are sharp yet gentle at the same time, gaze full of bright sparks and lips pursed in attempt to concentrate.
Minho understands why Chan draws. It almost seems like his healing – a thing that keeps him sane in the haze of stress and sleepless nights. Chan is attached to that in a same way Minho is attached to the colourful sticker notes left on his door.
Minho shakes his head, trying to scare the odd thoughts away. He is not having a crush on a stranger, just because he finds their handwriting cute.
Speaking of handwriting. Maybe it’s tiredness in Minho’s head, or the feeling of complete exhaustion, but there is something close in the way Chan’s draws, lines and patterns tingling with odd familiarity.
It fills his chest with warmth.
“You like it?” Chan suddenly asks under his breath, corner of his lips curling in a smile.
“Yeah,” Minho exhales carefully, a bit scared of ruining the enchanting moment. “It seems…. familiar.”
Chan stops his head abruptly, biting down on his lower lip. “Really?” He huffs, pencil in his hand still.
“Yes,” Minho nods. “Can’t explain why, though.”
Or maybe I can, is the last thought before Minho completely dozes off.
*
Minho is an early bird, but this time he is woken up by the bang of the door and a loud “Morning, Channie!”
Minho jumps up abruptly, entangled in the soft pile of blankets. “Oh,” the voice says, coming closer.
Jisung. Chan’s roommate.
“Minho-hyung,” he says timidly, scratching the back of his head. “Glad to see you but,” he looks somewhere behind him, “is everything okay? Why are you here and Chan is…,” Jisung comes closer. “There.”
Minho faintly realizes that the bed on the opposite side of the room is empty, not even touched. Looking over his shoulder he sees Chan sleeping right on the table, over his notebook, face peaceful and covered in grey ink.
“Hey, lover boy,” Jisung starts shaking Chan’s shoulder, and Minho barely refrains from scolding him from ruining this peaceful sleep where Chan looks so adorable. The latter jabs, letting out series of incoherent noises. “You could have warned me you need a room today.”
Minho chokes on his saliva, coughing loudly. “It’s not like that,” he rasps, watching as Chan’s cheeks get pink, mouth agape. Minho wishes it was like that. “I lost my keys and Chan kindly offered his help.”
“Yeaaah,” Jisung sing songs, hugging Chan from behind. “Our Channie-hyung is like that, the kindest and biggest heart,” he ruffles his hair, cooing at him.
“I’ve noticed,” Minho mumbles, barely audibly, but Chan looks up at him in surprise. The latter gives him a shy smile, and Minho melts, not resisting same smile appearing on his face. “Anyways, I need to go,” he says, clearing his throat.
Jisung starts protesting loudly, but Minho shrugs everything off, gathering his things in a rushed motion. His heart does things while looking at Chan, and he doesn’t like it. Minho has enough stress and problems with studying and exams, mystery notes adding up to this, and one more crush on a person that is way too perfect won’t play in his favour.
Right?
“It’s weekends,” Chan mumbles, and it takes a lot for Minho not to look at him. “You sure you don’t want to stay?”
And for a second, Minho considers. But quickly shoves the thoughts somewhere to the back of his mind, where they won’t bother him. “I need to study,” he shrugs, and well, it’s half-truth. The exam is in two days.
“Okay,” Chan says with a small smile, obviously forced. He gets up to his feet, stretching his arm up and yawning, something that shouldn’t make person look this cute. “Will see you off to the door,” he explains, swaying on his feet. “You still need to find your keys anyways.”
Minho nods in confirmation, not really able to form words. As he picks up his backpack and tries to throw it over his shoulder, it hits the edge of the Chan’s table, throwing everything that was laying there on the floor. Minho lets out a strangled noise and Jisung gasps in surprise, watching as everything fall to the ground. “Gosh, I’m so sorry, fuck--,” Minho rambles, crouching on the ground with Chan and Jisung to gather all the scattered stuff and drawings.
“It’s okay,” Chan reassures him – of course – with a same smile on his lips, as he stashes everything in one pile. Minho hands him the papers he gathers, faintly catching some sketches and carefully written notes, and the tingling feeling of familiarity strikes him again.
He saw it.
Minho doesn’t let go of the last paper in his hand as Chan grabs on the other side of it. Air is stuck somewhere in his lungs, forming a tight lump in his throat as he looks between the paper and Chan, looking back at him in confusion.
There is a dinosaur. Small dinosaur that the person has left on every note for Minho.
And it explains so fucking much. The familiarity of the way Chan’s draws, of his neat handwriting, of the way he was so kind to a practically stranger.
Bang Chan left those fucking notes.
“Minho, I--,” Chan starts in a trembling voice, but there is a loud ringing filling up Minho’s ears. He jumps up from his place and rushes to the door, disappearing from the room as quickly as he can. And as Minho gets out and shuts the door behind him, he runs.
Either from Chan or from himself.
*
The notes haven’t appeared for two days.
Not like Minho didn’t expect that, but it’s still something that catches him off guard, making something inside unpleasantly twist.
Minho misses them. Minho misses feeling that someone cares.
In the most desperate moments, when not even studying help him to distract, Minho thinks of knocking on Chan’s door, apologizing for running away and being a complete idiot. But, every time, something pushes him back, and like a coward he sits all by himself in his dull and soulless room.
The exam passes rather well though, even with all the thoughts occupying Minho’s head. At least he finally thinks he can breathe, leaving auditorium feeling accomplished and unusually calm, as the weight of all the stress and worries falls of his shoulders. On his way to the dorms Jeongin calls in to congratulate him, and that is something that distracts Minho from the tangles of thoughts in his head as well.
When Minho sees a pink spot on his door he has to blink twice. Thrice, to make sure it’s not formed by his overexcited and euphoric mind. He comes closer, and traces fingers over the note like it’s the first time it is there, as if he has never seen something like that.
‘17.00, in the yard. Please.’
Minho exhales loudly, but can’t resist a small smile forming on his lips at the sight of familiar lines and letters again.
*
If Minho had doubts about the author of the notes before – for some reason, when he sees Chan sitting on the benches when he enters a small dorm yard, suddenly everything settles.
It’s weird how Minho thought he is developing crushes on two people, who turned out to be same person in the end.
“Hey,” he waves his hand at Chan as he comes closer, and the latter looks up in panic, almost shrinking in his hoodie while fidgeting with his fingers in his sweater paws.
Cute.
“You came,” Chan mumbles and watches as Minho sits down, purposely closer then it was intended. Now their knees are slightly brushing, as they are both sitting with bodies half-turned to each other.
“Of course,” Minho shrugs, and when he sees Chan’s eyes widening as he looks at his hands, Minho realizes he still holds a pink note in them. “I think it’s yours, isn’t it?” He asks cheekily, lips curling in a small smirk.
“It is,” Chan says, looking down. He obviously looks more relaxed, but is still nervously playing with his fingers. “Look, Minho, I’m sorry—”
“Why are you apologizing?” Minho can’t help but laugh, and Chan’s face splutter in a wide smile at that as well. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I thought you were mad that I didn’t tell you.”
“The only thing I was mad at is that I obviously was crushing on two people simultaneously.”
Smile falls from Chan’s lip as he frowns. “Wait, wait, wait,” he rambles, gaze looking everywhere, but not at Minho. “Crush—You—Me?” He screeches, as if he is not Bang fucking Chan, a person whom everyone in that damned university – and maybe even world – likes.
“Why are you so surprised?” Minho says softly. “The notes, I was collecting them in one place and rereading them when I felt sad, did you know?”
“Really?” Chan asks, still looking to the ground.
“Yes!” Minho nods, smiling. “And that evening, at your place, I--,” he sucks in a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “I knew it was you,” he whispers, fiddling with the note in his hands. “I felt something, and I couldn’t explain that, but I think I subconsciously knew,” Minho looks up and their eyes finally meet, all the tenderness of the world now focused in Chan’s gaze. “But I couldn’t explain the feeling, and it drove me mad.”
Silence falls for a few seconds, and Minho physically feels as the air around them becomes more tensed, as if soaked with anticipation. Chan clenches on his knees, and his hand is now dangerously close to Minho’s leg as well. “Minho, can I kiss you?” He asks – or, rather, huffs, looking up as his hand brushes somewhere over Minho’s knee.
Instead of giving an answer, Minho shuffles closer, connecting their lips gently. It’s a soft brush, and Chan giggles, making Minho’s heart wrench inside in adoration. He places one of his hands over Chan’s forearm, slightly pulling him closer. The feeling of Chan’s lips is strong, and they are soft and plush, yet with a needed tint of desperation and demand.
Minho sighs into the kiss, feeling the touch of Chan’s hand over his knee ever more now. “You’re cute,” he whispers, as they break apart. Chan giggles again, hiding his face in the crook of Minho’s neck. “And you’ll be drawing me those dinosaurs every day now.”
“Shut up,” Chan mumbles somewhere into his skin, and, finally, everything feels in its rightful places.