smiles; absurdly lethal
AN: hehe this was a prompt from chocolate fish dongsaeng uwu it might be a little weird idk im pretty alright with how it turned out though I feel I could’ve written it better but heck idc ;u; oh well enjoys yaaa~
sweet smile; perhaps too sweet which hid unknown intent. the best thing you would use, to gain the cheap trust of a foolish little child, as easy as a mere lift of a finger to the bounds of charisma you had.
He fixed his pastel button up shirt in front of the golden rimmed mirror as the sunlight shone is slightly through the blinds that hit against the wall every two seconds. He counted the seconds by tapping his feet, listening intently for the familiar sound of the hollow wood knocking against the cement. One, two. Three? He turned slightly as he peered into the mirror to see a figure standing behind him clad in an old grey sweater panting heavily as he held a thin wooden rod in his scarred hands. Lifting the wooden rod up to face the man who smirked slightly as he went on to ruffle his hair, he spoke with a husky voice that seemed to reminds the young man of something, the kind of feeling one got when he heard a voice he had missed for years; the voice he longed to listen to, the waves of nostalgia knocking on the rocks in his heart somewhat bringing a little tinge of tranquility to him. The identity was this man who stood hunched behind him on a ragingly normal Sunday morning remained a conundrum, yet he had not felt the urge to confront this man. He was a tired awkward soul who was long happy with the tiny circle of people he met each and every day, smiling about the ease of communicating with people he knew for at least a month or two. Strangers weren’t easy at all, especially if the first meeting he had with them was a rather unexpected one; where in this case a man had crawled through the window of his second storey flat in an old apartment down the quiet street. Confrontation was something he would love to call a taboo, and for a second there he actually forgot how to start a conversation with someone.
“What a pleasant guest, coming through my window at day?” his voice seemed far too quirky as he kept his eyes locked on the image of the stranger’s maroon boots in the mirror, “I’m afraid you might be dirtying my carpet there with those kicks of yours.” That wasn’t too hard.
“Favours; just one simple favour and id leave you to your heaven of carpets, do whatever you did before I came, go on with your peculiar life.” The same waves of nostalgia sent shivers, leaving him pretty much rooted to the ground as he scrunched up his face and ruffled his hair as a slight sign of frustration.
“Favours? Of what sort, what can I do. I don’t quite see how a socially awkward pawn can do for a random individual who is a master at entering other people’s resides without the least of a sound. Not to mention your climbing skills are worth a clap, though I live pretty low.” He taunted as he began to tap his feet on the soft padding of the brown carpet he had grown fond of since the first time he saw it. He remembered he bought it on a little shopping trip a few years back when he was rather young, at a tender and vulnerable age. To be more exact, it was a year after his father left him, a year after the period of tears that would flood the bathroom as his mother sat huddled in a corner with her face buried in her hands. She had decided they would start afresh and within the course of a week the house was emptied to bring in new sets of furniture and clothes and pretty much everything. For a week or so he would spend time watching her tire herself out while wondering about her options; why take so much effort to clear everything and start anew when you’re in the same house? He never felt like they started afresh, but rather a new setting, a new environment that just seemed lacking no matter what they did.
“Its a simple little step. Just stay quiet. No. Before that tell me your name.” The man moved as the floor creaked under the careful steps he took. He inched closer to the man standing before the mirror, his eyes hawk-like, watching every slight movement, including the way his black hair seemed to move in slight jolly dances in the wind.
“Name? I dont have one. I lost mine when I lost my father but well that’s too much information isn’t it. Uhm. Well. Jon would do.” Jon stood forlorn, his eyes monitoring the stranger closely. Perhaps it had been the mere five minutes that passed by that made his eyes tingle. It had been a mere five minutes yet he had exchange more than a sentence with this obscure presence, a record of his own. A sense of panic and distress was something he grew up lacking, at times he thought he lost it because he had been squeezed dry by the attacks his father made from time to time, threatening to leave them behind, which he eventually did.
“Alright then Jon. Now if you’d cooperate it wouldn’t take too long, neither would it hurt. Not even a slight pinch.” The man pulled his cap down as he let his grey hood fall down on his back to reveal his hair, a similar shade of pearl black. He walked to Jon and stood before him as he peered into his eyes from behind the secure comfort of reflective shades. Out of a sudden he smiled, a sweet smile which was far too much for a first meeting. His smile was perhaps, something irresistible, something he would’ve fallen for not for the wrong ways, but rather for the confidence and aura he had given out. Gone was the lost and tired street hobo look and in was the confidence of a newly graduated bachelor strutting into a room for an interview in a beautiful tux. Yet what kept Jon’s guards up was the recurring message that kept itself on replay, weaving through the knots that had gradually formed. It had been a smile too sweet, a tad too confident, a strong concealing force which hid the actual intentions beneath layers of porous skin.
Yet he felt helpless and he fell; into slumber, with only the last memory of the gleaming smile imprinted in his memory.
Unknown intent; unknown actions. He awoke after a deep slumber, sweating as he felt cold across his forehead. The sun was brighter, as he covered his eyes with his palms as he heard his phone ringing in a distance on the table beside his bed. He was tired though, drained. A peer towards the clock on the way read 12.15; and just like that he had missed his meeting. It was funny how the stranger had come and gone, within the time of his sleep. It had happened so fast and awkwardly he never had much of a memory about it.
Shards came back, as piercing as the sun that glared on his brown eyes. The voice that left chills, the familiar maroon boots that had left brown specks of mud on the carpet, though not all that conspicuous thanks to the already oak coloured carpet. He scratched his head as he really didn’t recall nor did he had utterly no notion about the possible reasons behind this sudden intrusion of such a man who shook him that hard with his voice. Perhaps it was then it struck him, the same phrase he heard years ago, the phrase and the voice he longed to listened to, its velvety finish leaving him to recall the sensation of each and every word slipping through the cavities of his teeth as he was jolted awake; there was definitely no other man he missed this much. He got up to search the drawers, each one in a rather animated mess. What was strange was the incident was no murder or theft case as his valuables lay untouched below the piles of items stacked over each other as though someone raged and flipped through everything impatiently, alas he found a missing item. A little photo frame he had been holding for the past years and a little pendant that held a picture if him and the man he had missed for a whole 16 years.
Could it have been a friendly visit from the same man, he wondered as he pulled up the blinds, his fingers gripping on the plastic beads on the pulley system as he squinted at the street, a little tear welling up as he watched the familiar hunched back scamper cross the road into the autumn morning.
He left once again, without a proper goodbye. He slumped on the ground beside the window frame as he sighed, popping the top buttons of his shirt as he threw his well chosen peach tie across the room as it lay on the ground before his treasure cupboard. And it marked another day of his 25 year of life where he failed to catch, and grab hold of his father. Wasn’t it something he promised his mother? Didn’t he promise that a mere glimpse of his father would send his masculine hands around the man’s shoulder as he brought him home to keep, for his mother. Useless as he was, there was nothing he could do. He shrugged and picked up the soon overheating phone he had left to charge since the previous night; a little message besides the other spams of aggressiveness from his impatient colleagues stood out as he stared at it for moments. And it was nothing but an unsent draft.
“Leaving again without a goodbye is such a letdown isn’t it, ‘Jon’? Have a special 25th birthday I suppose.”
Jon paused for a moment as a knock on the door shook him out of his little reverie to reveal his mother holding a intricately designed and decorated cake in her thin frail arms, the candles moving violently in the wind.
“blow out the candles and make a wish my dear.” She smiled at Jon, a sweet smile which on the other hand left him fuzzy, and happy, truly happy for the first time.
“Sure.” he smiled as he blew out the candles.
Throughout the day he went by without telling his mother about his father’s queer arrival;
Neither did his mother speak of the fervent rushed apologies he had given to her in five minutes as he hugged her tightly refusing to let go;
They both went through, smiling sweetly and perhaps sweeter than before, carefully keeping secrets they thought each other hadn’t known about, concealed behind the sweet twinkles.