~𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤~ [SeongJoong]

꧁༺ 10 ༻꧂

Hongjoong hurriedly run towards the library in hope that the stranger hadn't visited yet. He left a note before leaving with the gift, but he wanted to replace it.

He was so grateful. He didn't even know how to express his gratitude towards the other. He felt like he needed to let him know what he was thinking as soon as possible, because he deserved it.

Hell Hongjoong thought the guy deserved everything in the world now. He was so fucking sweet it almost hurt.

Because the feelings he was starting to experience were far too familiar and he honestly felt like he needed to let the other know. Not obviously of course, but he wanted the man to feel loved, to feel cared for.

Love.

That's an extremely strong word.

Hongjoong knew he wasn't experiencing love, because love was deep, love was tiring, love was suffocating.

Real love would swallow you whole and never let go until it was satisfied.

Love was a strong word.

But he couldn't deny the way his heartbeats accelerated when he read the last few notes.

He couldn't deny the way his chest warmed when the guy decided to get him a present.

He couldn't deny the fact that he was starting to catch feelings for an anonymous guy he didn't even know that well.

So as soon as he put back the little note in the white box he instantly wrote another note and stormed out of his apartment, almost bumping into, guess who, the black haired guy he became accustomed to see.

But he didn't spare him a glance, he was too focused on his thougts to be aware of his surrounding.

The library was empty when he entered. The only person in sight was the lady who gave him the package.

He made his way to the now so well known shelf with the familiar book and felt relieved when he saw the same piece of paper he left earlier.

All the tension left his body, his limbs relaxed, as he removed it from the pages, replacing it with the new one.

He took some minutes just staring at the book, a smile plastered on his face.

He put the book back into its shelf, letting his fingers linger just a little longer on the worn out cover.

A sigh on content escaped his lips.

A sentence, that was not really a sentence, directed at everything and nothing at the same time, at the precious book that now looked at him through all the other books, at the universe, that that day decided he was to pick up that specific block of words, and at the guy who decided to leave an anonymous note through those pages.

"Thank you"