Chapter Text
Samuel was at his desk, a glass of water and his insulin pen laid out to the left of him. He was in the middle of reading a spicy BL after his colleagues left, when he noticed a piece of paper had appeared on the corner of his desk.
His first thought being a misplaced document, something a coworker had forgotten. The second, as his fingers touched the paper, was curiosity
The note was not English, but an ugly ass handwriting of a language he hadn't seen since he was younger, a dialect of Old Javanese, an Indonesian language so rare he'd always assumed he’d never encounter it in a real world scenario.
He looked around the empty room. There was no rational explanation for how the note had gotten there. He dismissed the idea of a ghost or a coworker.. This is totally different.
His focus narrowed to the note itself. The unexpected writing stunned the little gay boy.
"The pages of every danmei you read are just a prelude to our story.. The words you whisper as you turn the pages is the sweetest melody I know." he murmured, his gaze following along.
He paused, his brow furrowing. "This is.. So stalker-like? Who the hell wrote this…" He continues to read.
"I watch you trace the lines with such care, and I imagine those fingers tracing my own skin. I yearn to steal the attention you so freely give to these gay books. Until then, know that you are the only story I truly read."
He took a look around the bookstore, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. The words were beautiful, almost intoxicating, but there was a possessiveness to them that made his skin crawl.
It wasn't just admiration… it felt like an intense, unwavering gaze fixed solely on him. "The words you whisper as you turn the pages is the sweetest melody I know.” lingered in his mind, a freaky intimate detail that suggested a level of observation faaarrr beyond a casual glance.
A chill slithered up his spine, an instinctive feeling of certainty that someone was watching him, right now. To him, the romantic lovey dovey words now seemed less like an admirer and more like an Indonesian stalker!
Tonight, Samuel's closing routine turned frantic. As he crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket, his goal was to get out of there as fast as possible. He fumbled with the keys, his heart pounding.
The bookstores heavy silence seemed to follow him out, a weight on his shoulders that he couldn't shake off as he hurried toward his car on his mobility scooter, the dim and flickering street light adding a more ominous feeling to the whole surreal situation.
Once he finally entered his apartment, he started to relax a bit... but he couldn't stop thinking about the words from the note: I watch you trace the lines with such care, and I imagine those fingers tracing my own skin. The intimacy of it felt like a violation.
He paced around his small living room, trying to rationalize it all. He was a lonely man, but he wasn't desperate. The note was unsettling. He should report it, should call the police, should do anything but keep it.
but then he thought to himself, what if it wasn't a threat? what if it was just a shy person who didn't know how to express their feelings? Sammuel was a quiet, introverted man. He understood the difficulty of reaching out.
Maybe this person saw him for who he was… a diligent twink who lost himself in the beauty of old indonesian languages, and they were doing their best, however odd, to connect.
He thought back to the line, you are the only story I truly read. He chose to believe it was a poetic way of saying they are fascinated by him. He wanted to believe that the note was not in a threatening typa way, but a weird, heartfelt love letter from someone who just wanted to be seen.
He decided to give the note's author the benefit of the doubt, hoping that this was just a misguided confession of some sort.
Samuel rests his head on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. The image of the paper and its unsettling words replay in his mind. He found himself wondering just who delivered the note.
With a sigh, he sat up and made his way into his living room, flicking on the light. His eyes immediately finding the crumpled note he had left. It was a small sheet of paper that had drawn him in.
He reached for it, his fingers tracing the faint creases where he had clenched it in his hand, and lifted it again. The words held his complete attention before, but now the faint watermelon scent was suddenly noticeable.
He lifted the note to his face, inhaling its faint, dark fragrance. "Maybe it's a colored burrhead bootlip bluegum nigger in the woodpile?" he spoke softly to himself.
The thought just felt wrong, and he quickly dismissed it with a shake of his head. It didnt make sense anyway. He was openly gay, but only towards men of Indonesian descent and that was something everyone in his small quebec town knew. You could easily tell just by looking at his zesty fatass that he swings that way.
The author of the note had watched him with such unnerving intimacy, if they had truly been observing him so closely, they would know he wasn't interested in any coons. The thought of the mysterious writer being anything other than an indonesian man simply didn't resonate with him.
He brought the note back to his bedroom, placing it carefully on the bedside table. Lying there in the dark, with the small sheet of paper a few feet away, he felt a strange calmness settle over him. Only a few hours ago, the words had made his skin crawl...
Now, as he slowly drifted toward sleep, his fear had mostly been replaced by a quiet, consuming curiosity. He was still skeptical, but he was now open to the possibility that maybe, for once in his forsaken gay lonely life, he might have someone to spend it with.
Samuel arrived at the Kinokuniya with a new kind of dread.
His heart pounded in his chest as he walked to his desk. Half expecting, half fearing, to find another note. Perhaps it was seriously a stalker and not an admittance of love or desire..?
There was nothing. The empty corner of his desk gave Samuel a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
With a sigh he sat down, but his routine was shattered. He couldn't relax himself in the quiet, methodical work of the Kinokinuya anymore. His focus had shifted from books, to people who roamed the bookstore.
He began to observe the people around him with a wariness he'd never felt before.
He'd catch a glimpse of a young man lingering a moment too long at the shelves near his desk. He'd notice a quiet man who always sat in the same section to reread the same few manhwas.
Each face, each footstep, each rustle of a page, suddenly became a part of this mystery he so desperately wants to solve.
Samuel was making a mental note of their movements, their habits, their potential as a stalker or admirer.
The day stretched on, an agonizingly slow and silent torture.
He felt a constant, shivering sensation, a certainty that someone was watching his faggot ass...
The quiet had been a weight on Samuel's shoulders for nearly two weeks. He sat in his living room, a half-read Chinese Danmei labelled “Addicted” in his lap. He shook his head, a low mumble escaping his lips.
"Nothing. Not a word," he said to the empty room. "Maybe that was the whole point." He ran a hand through his hair, a sudden weariness in his voice.
"It wasn't a confession. It was an attempt to scare me. To make me paranoid… I feel as stupid as I did when I bought that $83CAD Maha rank over and over…"
The thought settled on him, leaving him feeling less afraid and more foolish.
He was just a joke, a stupid gay little twink who fell for a prank. The whole thing was a game, and for nearly two weeks, he had been waiting for a message that was never going to come.
He was wandering in the snack aisle at the MiniMart on his mobility scooter... when a familiar and jarring scent jolted him from his quiet misery. It was the faint, watermelon fragrance of the note, and the smell of it made his eyes widen instantly.
He froze, his hand still hovering over the Ferrero Rocher, 42 Count, Premium Milk Chocolate Hazelnut, Chocolates for Gifting, 18.5 oz box that he was about to devour as his going home snack.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Standing a few feet away, reaching for a box of cookies, was a man who appeared to be a few years older than him. He had his back to Samuel, and there was nothing outwardly remarkable about him besides him being 5’5 horizontally and 6’2 vertically, but the scent was unmistakable. It was the same fragrance that had made him feel like a pathetic gay fag, hopelessly searching for love to spice up his angsty gay life.
The man grabbed the box of cookies and placed it in his cart.
Samuel, still frozen in place on his scooter, could only watch as this mysterious Indonesian boy’s large form with dozens of rolls rounded the corner and disappeared…
“IM SUCH A WORTHLESS STUPID GAY FAGGOT!” he shouts in the aisle as he tore open the box of chocolates to devour right there before he scoots his way back home.
Another week or so went by, which left Samuel feeling more foolish than ever. He regretted not doing anything in the snack aisle when he first recognized that scent.
On his way out one evening, tired and ready to go home, he opened his desk drawer. There, placed right in the middle, was a single sticky note. It had that same watermelon scent. The Old Javanese writing was gone, replaced by a single line in ugly, messed-up handwriting:
"I am in the little boys bathroom. I will wait until you come."
Samuel immediately put his mobility scooter into speedy mode. The scooter had a sudden, surprising burst of speed that sent him shooting down the quiet bookstore aisles. He rushed toward the little boys room as fast as humanly possible, the wheels of his scooter squealing.
He burst through the heavy door, the motorized mobility scooter letting out a deafening screech as its wheels skidded and scratched the floor.
Samuel noticed the big boy in the wheelchair accessible stall… the man from the grocery store. This is definitely love at first sight. He was a few years older than Samuel, a big, heavy-set Indonesian boy with a big, round face with a quadruple chin and zero facial hair. He resembled a big round watermelon that Samuel just wanted to eat up.
Slowly, as if he'd been expecting Samuel, the man turned. His brown eyes were so captivating to Samuel, he couldn’t help himself. He scooted his way over and started smooching up a storm in the stall with the big indonesian man.
A small, apologetic smile appeared on his face. "I'm sorry… I know I worried you my big round indigenous boy…" he said.. "I know this was a strange way to do it. But I didn't know how else to get you to talk to me… I am an awkward quirky boy with anxiety... keep on trying me yeah tryna silence me... “
"My name is Ajax," the big Indonesian boy said, his high-pitched voice surprisingly delightful. He leaned in for a kiss with a shy smile on his face.
"Ajax," Samuel managed to mumble between kisses, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He pulled back for a moment, his heart pounding, the startling reality of the situation giving him more excitement. "I... I'm Samuel. And you worried me, you know." He gently nudged Ajax's round belly. "First, the note, then the weeks of nothing."
Ajax giggled, a sound as unexpectedly even sweeter than his voice. "I was so nervous," he admitted, his eyes sparkling. "I just... I see you every day in the Kinokuniya. You're so quiet, so focused. I didn't know how to approach you… the Old Javanese was my way of being able to communicate with you without others knowing ya know? I didn't want to scare you away, my enormous Quebecian-Indian king."
Samuel kissed him again, a soft, reassuring peck on his cheek. "It was a strange way to do it," he laughed, "but it worked. It got me here." He squeezed Ajax's large hand. "And I'm so glad it did."
They get married and ajax is pregnant with samuels child. They live happily ever after and name their child Andrew. THE END!