It’s the time of year when the heaters in the campus buildings start to kick in. The temperature outside usually ends up warmer than the temperature inside, oddly enough, so the heater tries to compensate and somehow it just never works. The end result is that each room in the building has its own climate, and Daehyun is either too hot in his sweater or too cold in his t-shirt. He’s sweltering in a long sleeved top in his music theory classroom, which is bordering on eighty degrees, when he hears it.

His professor has left the door to the hallway open, from which the occasional freezing gust of air sweeps in. One of these gusts brings with it the tinkling of a piano and the tune of a familiar song. It takes him a while to place the sound, but he eventually identifies it as one of Frederic Chopin’s better known nocturnes.

Daehyun’s professor soon catches on to the music as more students find their attention stolen by the beautiful playing.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what one of the best pianos in the school sounds like,” the man says, scratching at his balding scalp. “These kinds of pianos cost anywhere from sixty to a hundred thousand dollars. They won’t let anyone but the top few students into that practice room. Listen well, if you’re not going to listen to the lesson. It’s rare to get in on a free concert like this.”

The professor lets them listen through to the end of the song, and even allows a muted round of applause. He closes the door after, and smoothly proceeds with his lecture. Daehyun shifts the collar of his shirt, even more uncomfortable now that the air flow in the room has been stopped. He prepares himself for another half hour of a stagnant, muggy climate.

.

A few weeks later, Daehyun has several rare hours of freedom in the evening from a canceled class at the conservatory of his internship. He’s ready to spend all his time studying Latin vocabulary, has even propped up his notebook on his bed frame, but the opportunity never comes.

“I hope you’re decent,” a loud voice declares, and the door opens wide suddenly. Daehyun knows that voice all too well, but he hasn’t heard much of it since the previous year.

Himchan strides in confidently and brings a blast of cool air with him. He’s been like this since Daehyun’s known him, always followed by a breeze and an undertone of expensive cologne. Sometimes, Daehyun feels that Himchan could lower the temperature of a sauna by several degrees just by being in it. He’s not sure how he’d picked up a friend like this, right from the very start of his time in Seoul. He remembers that it had been his first class in the university, on the first day, and he’d been desperate not to start off his first year sitting alone. In his haste, as the teacher swept into the room, Daehyun had taken a seat next to Himchan. Somehow, a friendship had blossomed, and though Daehyun would have expected Himchan to have long since dropped all communication between them, Himchan has hung on doggedly.

“Himchan,” Daehyun starts slowly. He’s not really sure what to say. He’s certain that he hadn’t told Himchan what room he was in this year. They hadn’t spoken since the last text Himchan had sent a couple months ago. “It’s been a while.”

Himchan has dyed his hair again. It’s a stunning white-blond, and he wears it well, somehow. Himchan tends to wear most things well, Daehyun muses, from red jeans to ripped t-shirts and humongous scarves. Daehyun can’t say he really understands Himchan’s fashion sense, and his style seems to vary from hip to strict and back again. Himchan doesn’t hide that he’s not in love with Daehyun’s choice of over-sized sweaters and backward facing snapbacks, but they are as far apart on the spectrum as can be in that respect. Himchan takes good care of himself. He has clear skin and a slim nose, a practiced smile and confidence in his straight shoulders. Daehyun has none of that, and he supposes he’s a bit envious. He hasn’t yet managed to conform to Seoul’s society the way that Himchan has.

Himchan hums indifferently. “It has. Who’s your roommate?” he asks.

“Yongguk.” Daehyun has a feeling he won’t be able to accomplish studying tonight.

“Bang Yongguk?” Himchan clarifies.

“That one.”

Himchan hums again, a little more interested. “Not bad, not bad at all. I’ve gotten a taste of him. We went out a few times, but it never really got far. We’re friends.”

Daehyun stills, astonished. “Yongguk is gay?”

“Bi,” Himchan corrects. “Maybe not even. I’d say more bi-curious. That, or panual.”

Daehyun scowls. “That’s two entirely different things, Himchan.”

“I’m aware of that. Yongguk just loves everyone no matter what. I think he couldn’t care less what you are or who you are, he loves people if they’re good on the inside.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Why would I be indecent?” Daehyun says to fill the silence he can feel encroaching on them. He probably should have asked earlier.

“Huh?” Himchan looks at him like he’s turned into a fish. Daehyun really shouldn’t be surprised that Himchan’s already forgotten.

“When you walked in,” Daehyun reminds helpfully.

“Oh, that. I don’t know,” Himchan replies flippantly, and moves right on to the next order of business. He’s always been straight and to the point, Daehyun notes. “What are you getting up to this year? We should catch up. Let’s go for some coffee,” he offers.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

Daehyun can think of many good reasons to decline Himchan’s suggestion, but he finds himself grabbing a satchel from under his bed and stuffing his notebook inside regardless. It’s a change of pace, and Himchan always insists on treating him. Daehyun isn’t one to miss out on free sweets.

.

Daehyun returns after his outing to discover a crane with a note inside. He’s finally noticed that all three previous message carrying birds have been a single color, unlike the unique patterns of the rest. This time, the glossy paper is a soft pink tone.

#230: I’ve been working on something I’d like to show you. Take a seat at the bench in the second courtyard around four in the afternoon tomorrow, if you can. I’ll make it quick, so you won’t be late for your job.

Daehyun falls asleep that night with a twinge of excitement that he hasn’t felt in a long while. He doesn’t even notice that he lets slip a goodnight to Yongguk as he’s settling down. It’s a small habit that he’s long suppressed since starting university, a lingering memory of the sleepover nights he’d had with the other boys back in his old town, when they’d spend twenty minutes exchanging goodnights just to stretch the time before they slept. It had seemed silly once he’d come to the city, and Daehyun had squashed the habit promptly. If Yongguk is surprised, he doesn’t let it show, and returns the words without a pause.

a/n: (for those of you who know Chopin, yes, this is a very simple piece. However, there is a reason for this! you'll see why about half-way through the story.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARRIE EEEEEK OMG I LOVE YOU BABY YOU'RE THE BEST WIFE IN THE WORLD AND AAAAAH I'M SORRY I DON'T HAVE A BETTER PRESENT TO GIVE YOU. D: D: D: HERE IS BABY JELLO FOR YOU.

ALL THE LOVE TO YOU MY SWEET, ADORABLE, CUTE, LOVELY, BEAUTIFUL, LOVING, PERFECT CAREBEAR. MAY THIS BE THE BEST BIRTHDAY YET AND I HOPE YOU GET LOTS OF PRESENTS AND DON'T GET IN TOO MUCH TROUBLE FOR DYING YOUR HAIR MINT. HAVE FUN WITH LIFE.

Your loving waifu,
-Jess