#i drank one yesterday and put the rest in the fridge with a sticky note on them that had my name on it

[houseofwolvess]

it's official, im no longer allowed to have anything as my own unless i hide it deep within my room

[caticorn61]

Sticky Notes Part II

Summary: When your father is transferred to South Korea he decides it’s time for you to break out of your shell. But what do you do when your roommate doesn’t speak English?!

Genre: Angst, fluff (Chanyeol x reader)

Word count: 2587

Part One

A/N : I AM SO SORRY that it took forever to get this up. I really hope that you enjoyed this, there will be a Part III!

SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING!!! Panic/Anxiety attack tw

You gently picked up the sticky note and reread it over and over. It was the same kind as the ones covering his walls, bright pink and square. You pondered of what made him want to do this. You shrugged and walked to the fridge. You swung the door open, revealing sticky notes everywhere, all in English and all in his writing. Some of them have your name on it and others had his. You opened some of the containers, each had their own little meal inside.

“What is this?” You voiced pointlessly. You knew what it was but why? Why would he do this? You stood stiff in front of the open fridge, it’s cool air lapping onto your skin. For some reason his kindness made you uncomfortable. It left a sour taste in your mouth that you couldn’t swallow. You didn’t understand that either. It was illogical to hate this, but the idea of him actively reaching out grinded on you. Back home you’d be left alone, you were okay with that, happy even, but this was all too much.

You shoved the container back onto the shelf and half groaned, half sighed. You took the plate of food he had prepared for you and retreated to your room. With a huff you sat at your desk. You contemplated trying to find s new roommate, one that wouldn’t try to impose on you. Maybe you could fake an illness and your dad would let you move back home to where you were comfortable, but you knew he was a rock. So for now you stuck your head in a book. It was your usual go to when you didn’t want to deal with problems or people. When you were little you would play piano and or bake with your mom. At one point you even composed a little and you liked to think you were pretty good at it, but you’d stopped. You stopped a lot of things, but books stayed with you. They were a mobile safe space. You could read forever if it were possible. You would willingly “live” in other worlds because honestly it was so much more fun and much less problematic.

You folded the book closed, having reread this book three times since you left, cover to cover and while you loved it, it was losing its shine. You were waiting for the rest of you books to arrive, but you’d heard it could take months. You pondered how else you could fill your time. You knew eventually you’d need a job, but your dad shoveled you more than enough to get by, probably just happy he got you here without you falling apart. Your lungs heaved with a sigh. You groaned at the idea of studying but you couldn’t run from the fact that you can’t understand the freaking roads signs, let alone get a job.

You grabbed an old notebook and pried your laptop open and connected to the WiFi with the password Chanyeol had oh-so kindly left you. Thousands of suggested sites popped up that offered courses and lessons on the language. Videos that started at the basics and worked up. You picked one at random and scribbled notes down, sounding  out the words and you were certain that you sounded absurd but oh well, right? The mental image of you speaking Korean to a native made you lose all confidence in yourself. How your stomach spun at just the thought. You put your face in your hands and groaned, you were fed up with this whole thing, fed up with adventures and being here in this place that would never feel like home.

You pushed yourself up from your desk and pulled a hoodie over your head. A walk sounded good. Your phone was fully charged, you felt okay about wandering out again, so long as you didn’t have to try to communicate. When you opened the door to your room you found Chanyeol leaning over the counter, food in one hand and his phone in the other. He looked up at you in mild surprise and gave you a smile. He picked up a piece of whatever he was eating and held it out to you, saying something that you assumed was along the lines of offering it to you. You looked at him and then at his hand and back and forth until you put one foot in front of the other and walked past him to the door and left without a word. It felt cold, to do so, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to deal with it, you couldn’t deal with it. So you ignored him and left.

The streets were somehow more hectic than last time but, in a weird way, it was nice. You blended in better, no one looked at you, everyone minding their own business and you were beyond thankful for that. For once no one cared that you were there and it was relieving. You walked freely, scoping around the area, actually looking at the city for what it was. If you were honest it had its charms. It wasn’t all bad, there was a certain sort of life that radiated from the buildings, an energy you’ve never felt before. You couldn’t explain it but you felt a new appreciation for it all. Overall the architecture was simple, modern but tasteful and clean. It somehow motivated you, kind of like how going back-to-school shopping made you want to become a straight A student but without the failing of that notion by the end of the first month. Maybe it was just because it was different to you that everything stood out more and felt significant. It was a breath of fresh air. People hustled past you, not even sparing you a glance as you carried on your own way.

The streets smelled like food, good food, and it made your mouth water. You remembered that South Korea was famous for its street food, and how much your father had insisted you try it and tell him what you thought. He loved the food, all of it. You were far pickier, but curiosity got the best of you as you paced down the walkway, eyeing the vendors and weighing out which food looked the most appealing. One vendor had some sort of pancake and another had some egg and bread dish, but the one that made your stomach growl was this thing on a stick. It looks like mozzarella sticks that had been stacked and sauced. It reminded you some something that you’d find at a state fair back home. You shuffled money to the kind looking lady as she handed you your snack. You blew gently on it before taking a bite and the flavour flooded your mouth. It tasted like a mild version of the rice thing you tried a few days ago and had nearly made you choke, but ten times better and a lot less fiery.

Past all of the vendors was this beautiful building that was bigger than you could even begin to fathom, it’s presence demanding attention from anyone nearby, it’s aura something you would read about. The sign outside had some Korean typed out in clean letters and underneath said “Pyeongyang School of Music” and you laughed at how random the decisions of English were in this country, that sometimes they will carry a translations underneath whatever was said. You couldn’t complain though. You stood at the bottom of the concrete stairs and just drank it in. You wondered how big it was inside, what music was made and taught and what musicians were nurtured behind this walls.

And god did you envy them.

As a child it was your dream to attend a school this prestigious. You wanted to become one of the greats, to perform on stage and let music flow from your fingertips and change people. How you missed having the ambition to keep going with your music. You missed having the passion, the will, the talent. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you chewed your food, pining for the knowledge that belonged behind those closed doors. You knew you wouldn’t fit in there. You’d been gone from it too long. It wasn’t you anymore. And you were really sure what was.

Droplets of rain pattered down onto your bare skin. You cuddled into your big blue sweater, that was at least two sizes too big, and shielded yourself from the weather change. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and typed in the address to home and started your way back to a warm and dry location. The rain began to pick up faster with each step you took and eventually you had broke into a run. Cardio was not your thing, and you were so far out of shape you thought that by the time you reached home your heart would have gave out, but you made it into the elevator and heaved over your knees as you gasped for breath. The doors slid open as the elevator dinged and you found your apartment with ease.

When you stepped into the kitchen a timer rang out and the scent of freshly made cookies surrounded you. He’d been baking, you assumed, as he emerged from his room, the hood on his hoodie pulled up in a boyish manner. He brightened when he saw you, but didn’t say anything and focused on pulling his project out before they wound up burning. You watched as he retrieved a small plate from the cubby and piled warm chocolate chip cookies onto it. He shoved one into his mouth and held it there while he set more dough into the trays. He slid another one into a plate and held it out to you. You brushed past him, ignoring the cookie that he held and grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. The meals he had made for you still sitting there. When you turned around again the plate had been sat on the counter, cookie still on top. You stood for a second, taking a long gulp of your water, then grabbed the cookie and walked to your bed.

—-

Sweat covered your body in a light layer. Your thoughts were going a mile a minute and they got louder and louder until you couldn’t even hear yourself anymore. Honestly, by now you weren’t surprised, but it never affected you any less. You had woken up suddenly, with the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong but everything was the same way it was yesterday. You had pulled yourself from your bed, unable to stop from moving. You were hoping that the living room would give you anything else to focus on, but all you could focus on was how tight your chest was. How you were sure you hadn’t taken a solid breath in over a minute now. How you tried to search for a threat but all around you was calm.

Your hands ran through your hair, pulling on the strands until the nerves stung. You clawed your arms, slapped your face, anything to feel something else, to ease out of this false panic you were needlessly in. It had been days since you stopped taking your medications, you’d ran out and hadn’t found a pharmacy to refill them in and the consequences of your crippling anxiety were now showing it’s ugly face. The worst panic attacks you’d have were once where you were restless. Usually you could curl up and get through it but when the restlessness came, it was harder. You would feel trapped, and now you were beginning to feel caged.

You gasped in harshly and your chest stung hoping to breathe out the panic. Nothing you did helped. All you could hear was your head telling you every false lie it could think of, every little worry that ever crossed your mind. You were drowning. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around yourself, hyper aware of everything. Every sound, movement, gust of wind. When Chanyeol opened his door you jumped. Your pacing probably woke him up, and he had come find you moving around his apartment in a mess. You closed your eyes again and rubbed your hands up and down your arms, pretending as if you were a kid again and your Mom was comforting you after you scraped your knee.

You hiccuped through your quiet sobs. A hand gently grabbed your upper arm and lead you out of the apartment slowly. Without opening your eyes you stumbled at the lead, lacking the energy to fight it even if you wanted to. It wasn’t until the cold air from the outside rushed into you that your eyes snapped open again. Chanyeol pulled softly on your arm as you walked, pulling you away from poles and puddles made from the day’s rain. He felt stable, which had you not been in this sort of state you’d have both laughed at and been appalled by the fact that you allowed him so close. Neither of you said anything. You walked in silence, both of you just allowing yourself to come out of your first panic attack in your new home. You felt the cage lifting. The chains that weighed in your chest undoing themselves one by one, and you felt yourself taking slow and steady inhaled instead of sharp gasps. The cool air rather refreshing against your reddened skin and you shivered. The rain adding an extra bite to the chill.

Chanyeol wordlessly removed his hoodie and pulled it over your head. You tried to protest but he adjusted the hood over your head and he looked at you. His eyes looked like a soft stone when you glanced at them. His face sluggish, but his brow furrowed in a permanent concern. He was worried, and tired, but you were sure he didn’t know where he stood with you, where his boundaries were. He seemed like the touchy type, but all he did was gently guide you. No hugs, no caresses, just a firm hand to keep you in line. He was doing what he could.

His hoodie was warm and felt like a safety blanket. It smelled like the apartment but had a soft undertone of cologne that grounded you. As you looked around you realized you’d been going around the block this whole time, as if this was a casual midnight stroll, like nothing was wrong, everything was peaceful and it was rubbing off on you. You looked at the hand Chanyeol had on your arm, and then up to him. He caught your eyes and then immediately removed his hand from your touch. He cut in front of you and opened the door to your complex, and without looking behind him he headed for the elevator. You found your place next to him. If you had any idea of how to thank him now would be the time but it almost seemed too awkward to even try. You pushed your hair behind your ears, smoothing it down using the droplets of rain that had scattered on your head while you walked. The elevator doors hissed open and as he entered the apartment he slung the keys onto the counter and disappeared into his room leaving you wondering just who the fuck he was. Why did he care for you so much?

And why couldn’t you let him?