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Chan was one-hundred percent certain that in any other situation, he would’ve claimed his mom had possessed him if he didn’t know that the day after he had a bunch of exams his brain switched from “Must be anxious about everything right this minute and forget about cleaning” to “Clean, clean, clean” as a way of relieving the remains of the pent-up tension he had from studying and the stress of school.
Generally, he was a pretty organized person and maintained a good level of cleanliness in his private space (the main apartment chores had been attempted to be split up between him, Minho, Changbin, and Jeongin at some point, but it had never worked and they just agreed that as long as the common areas were kept somewhat clean, it didn’t matter who did it. Somehow, it worked, the apartment stayed clean, and they didn’t have to think too hard about it). But as Chan stared at the pile of dirty clothes that had amassed at the end of his bed, the overflowing trash bin of revised notes and snack bar wrappers, and the water glasses scattered across various surfaces, he knew enough was enough.
Opening the curtains and blinds had been the first step. Dragging the separate laundry hampers out of his closet and into the hallway so he could sort his dirty clothes had been the second step. Thankfully no one was home at the moment, so Chan could let his mess spill out of the doorway while he sorted it out without having to worry about someone tripping over it.
The clothes pile was massive. Like Chan-was-pretty-sure-his-entire-wardrobe-was-on-the-floor massive. It was a black hole at the end of his bed, pun intended with the amount of shirts and pants he had in the colour. So if he ended up using the two hampers to split the clothing between pants and shirts cause of the lack of colour differences that usually make up lights and darks in the laundry world, no one was going to stop him because he was an adult and could make his own rules.
Shirts went into the washer first. Speed cycle, cold water, low spin. The timer blinked a twenty minute timer at him. He could probably take care of the trash in that amount of time.
Chan grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen on the way back to his room, swiping through a playlist on his phone and turning it on so he had some background noise, singing softly as he worked. The trash wasn’t as bad as the clothes, thankfully. As he moved, he complied all the dishes and various, random cutlery and glasses onto his desk so it was all in one central location.
The washer was done by the time he gathered all the trash. He left the bag by the door to get latter, hauling the hamper of pants and jeans to the small laundry room, a closet really, and switched out the clothing. Shirts went into the dryer, pants into the washer (though this time it was on a longer cycle than the shirts, since it was going to take a bit for everything to dry). He left the hampers beside the laundry closet so he could use them later for his clean clothes.
The dishes were evacuated next. But when Chan stepped into the kitchen and the dishes from his room alone started piling on the counter because the sink was full from last night’s dinner dishes and his own, he laid out the drying mat and started scrubbing…
…Which turned into wiping off the counters and kitchen table, cleaning out the toaster tray, cleaning off the stove top, sweeping the kitchen, and adding the kitchen trash to his original bag of trash, then drying and putting away the dishes he had just cleaned, and by the time the dryer timer buzzed an hour later letting him know his shirts were dry, Chan had forgotten about his room entirely.
“Oops,” he said quietly to himself with a giggle as he tossed his clean shirts into one of the hampers. In honesty, he didn’t mind. A quirk with his anxiety was moments like these; cleaning sprees after periods of intense stress and anxiousness. The messes piled up around him until the time of anxiousness was gone and he could relax. Somehow, his brain acquainted cleaning with relaxing and taking a breather and that’s how days like today happened.
At this rate though, he might clean the whole house.
Maybe he would, just for the heck of it.
The clean shirts were folded or hung in their respective places, that hamper put back into the closet. Chan decided to break out the duster and gave his room a quick dusting before tearing apart his bedding from mattress pad to comforter and throwing it into the washer piece by piece as it was cleaned and wrung out by the machine, then dried into mind-numbing warmness that soaked into Chan’s skin as he walked back to the bedroom with his arms full of bedding.
Those sheets were going to feel so good tonight. He was going to be like that lizard in the meme Jisung had sent him one time where it was burrowing itself completely in the sand.
He loved clean sheets.
The pants were folded and hung as needed, the carpet vacuumed, and before he knew it, all that was left was waiting for his comforter to finish drying and his room was done.
Chan was incredibly pleased with himself, a sense of relief washing over him as he stood in the doorway looking around at his handiwork with a smile.
The carpet in hallway was feeling kind of gross on his bare feet. Maybe he should go ahead and vacuum it while he had it out.
Which that little endeavor led to dusting the living room, vacuuming the rest of the apartment (hallway included), and then somewhere along the way he got a little too interested in the toothpaste stuck on the bathroom mirror and dragged out the bucket of cleaning supplies, scrubbing down the two shared bathrooms.
By the time Minho got home from classes and work, a very tired but happy Chan was stretched out on the couch, tucked underneath one of the many throws they possessed, struggling to stay awake as he waited for the younger man to get home for dinner.
The distinct lack of dust and the feel of vacuumed carpet underneath his tired feet did not go unnoticed by Minho.
“Busy day?” he asked, flopping on top of Chan instead of getting his own seat.
The air left Chan’s lungs at the sudden weight, but he quickly regained it. “Yeah. I cleaned basically everything except for your guys’ rooms. Don’t know what happened.” He chuckled wryly, arms coming to wrap around Minho. “How was your day?”
“Mmm, good.” Minho plopped his head down on Chan’s shoulder, wiggling a little to get more comfortable. He was tired, too. “Long day, though. It was just fine, just…long.”
“You alright?” Chan’s thumb rubbed a small circle from where it rested on Minho’s lower back.
“Yup, I’m fine. Just tired. Are Changbin and Jeongin coming home tonight for dinner or do they have plans?”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday. Jeongin’s got a club meeting tonight, right?”
“Yeah. I don’t think Changbin has anything going on tonight, so he should probably be home any minute I would think, unless plans changed?”
As if summoned by their discussion, the door opened and slammed shut, followed by the sound of shoes being kicked off. A tired sigh echoed in the entry way and Changbin emerged from around the corner, backpack dragging against the floor.
“It’s Tuesday and I already want it to be Friday,” Changbin complained exhaustedly, limply falling into the chair beside the couch with a sigh.
“Rough day?” Chan asked. He could feel Minho starting to relax on top of him, muscles releasing the stress from the day, leaving the younger man limp, Chan’s thumbs still rubbing the small of his back gently.
“I don’t even want to get into it,” Changbin said humorlessly. “Just not a great day.”
They sat in silence like that for awhile. Eventually someone’s stomach rumbled loudly, declaring its need for sustenance, and they roused themselves in awareness enough to figure out what to do for dinner.
The night was spent on the couch in companionable comfort as they waited for Jeongin to come home from his club meeting, a habit they had gotten into when the youngest of their friend group had joined the college. Minho procured a deck of cards at some point and in a food-induced coma that had them struggling to stay upright (no alcohol involved, Chan promised), they decided Go Fish was the best game to play (Changbin fell asleep halfway through, head lolling against the back of the couch, cards falling out of his hands to reveal he had been one set away from winning, much to Minho’s displeasure, and Chan’s amusement at Minho’s displeasure).
Jeongin came home late that night to all three of his older-almost-brothers in a pile on the couch, fast asleep, playing cards strewn amongst the blankets and couch cushions, the remains of dinner on the coffee table.
He snagged a few pictures for blackmailing purposes, because why not, then roused the trio into a level of awareness that they could stumble to their bedrooms on their own without needing help.
As Chan climbed into bed, he just about sunk in the absolute bliss that was clean sheets, burrowing himself far underneath the comforter.
Lizard Chan, his exhausted brain supplied.
He snorted at the thought.
Then rolled over and fell asleep.