Cry Boy's Smile
Cry Boy's Smile
kim jaejoong/oc
romance,au; g; 2376 words
[doushite]
It was the campground he once religiously played at. Soccer at four with Kim Junsu, lunch and light bites at twelve with Park Yoochun, catch and tag at the hottest hour that is two together.
It was at five that they meet, alone. Same place, different feel. A scratched knee and bruised elbow, he failed helding in his tears. She came around, purely out of curiosity and largess, he piqued her. Adhesive bandages and extreme care, she was taller than him, but looked petite-almost. She left behind an enchanting smile and a pat on the head. She did that out of natural instinct. He was love struck.
February 14th rolled by; third graders did not know the true meaning of such onerous passion. Even so, that didn’t stop the abundance of wrapped gifts and confectionery the girls’ moms had picked out for him.
He liked older women.
‘Girls’ was a better word, Junsu corrected him.
It was still creepy, Yoochun sneered.
He skimmed through the cards deftly, almost of which from younger, cheerier girls. That, he was not fond of. He was aloof of girls his grade and under.
One gift clenched his heart, wrapped in sparkly pink wrapping paper and a card with teddy bears, he ripped it open in one swift motion. It was Band-Aids and a note to be more cautious. Her writing girly and polished, her name written lightly.
His smile couldn’t leave his face for the whole day. Nine years of age and already smitten to the core. Younger men were careless.
It dragged on until March years after. He hadn’t a serious relationship to date. His heart reserved for ‘the one’.
It was stupid, Yoochun munched on crisps.
Just get a girl, Junsu played with his hair, any girl really.
Intricate as their words were, he can’t help but look at the commotion.
A chorus of her name and greetings rained upon her. On top of that all, it was the same confessions of the same love of young kids that were her underclassmen. Females and males alike left and right wished her a joyous new school year. She had to remind herself, it was her last.
That smile, she smiled it. Those same words, she spoke it. That same empathy, she no longer felt. Days to weeks to months of younger men, she cautiously wondered if she was aging. The sight of new sophomores his age, she swallowed that lump in her throat.
One glance from him and he just knew, he declared his love for her.
“Not this year, squirt.” It was meant to be light, harmless. His chest heaving slightly at the pet name.
“I’m sixteen, noona!” as if that would change anything.
"Well, I’m turning nineteen in eight months.” That doesn’t proof anything; he wanted to say, instead of “Wait noona! Can you help me with my homework?” anything to stay by her side. “College admissions.” Her smile not sympathetic enough. She didn’t walk away fast enough; she caught sight of his teary eyes. It wasn’t supposed to work, but they ended up in an empty classroom.
Nice and quiet, it felt just right. He inquired her preferred college; it was faraway, Yonsei was a close second, she saw the look on his face. The fiery determination in him, he yearned for her lingering figure, her sweet indulging fragrance, the melodious light timbres that is her voice, he’d follow her anywhere. She laughed and told him to focus on his homework.
She took a close look at his features. With bright, cheery eyes and plush, cherry lips, she felt dull. How young he was, she patted his head. The ripe age of turning sixteen just a few months back, his birthday close to the New Years. In a sense, she had always celebrated his birthday every year. This, she did not know what to think of. “I love you.” Younger men were expectant.
Valentine’s again, he was grateful it was a Sunday. She texted him a mere, mandatory celebratory message. They met coincidentally that night; she bought him chocolates by chance, for his hard work and improving grades. His heart nearly exploded. With a pat on the head, she left with pink cheeks and visible breathing. His breath hitched and eyes watered as he clutched on the present tightly, he dented the plastic wrapping.
Exactly a month after, her grip occupied of profusely sent couture chocolates and various sized candies. She tried to refuse the incoming rest, hoped others didn’t feel hurt. She hugged the girls of appreciation and the guys a smile of courtesy.
If it weren’t for that one lad who held the world in his arms, she’d look past by the date. He was decently popular; she’d heard his name being mentioned before, fangirls and guys omnipresent to do his every wish.
He came, expectedly, untraditionally. Oreo cheesecake he swore he baked, brows scrunched, she’d said younger men were frivolous. That didn’t stop him, how stubborn he was. “Noona, you’re the one.” She wasn’t so sure; he needn’t a companion like her. He didn’t understand her hesitance; he said that they were meant to be, tears threating to form. Pitch changed, she said how stubborn he was, how careless he was, how naïve he was, and how this is what she had meant, frivolous it was.
She silenced herself, tears pricked, reasons unknown. She apologized, such brash behavior, she wasn’t perfect.
He didn’t need perfect, “I could never get mad at you, noona.” He loved everything about her, “I love you.” Younger men were delusional.
The last of summer vacation, he invited him over. The backyard’s décor of strings of lights and a blanket laid, his parents went to the movies deliberately.
“I hardly saw you, noona.” Over the years, he’d grown taller, their heights aligned. Somehow, she’d still pat his head. He looked into her eyes; he saw nothing but himself in the reflection of her pupils. He wished she saw the same in his and not his tears.
“College admissions.”
She hadn’t another reason, she needn’t another reason. Under the stars, she could finally breathe.
He hummed in annoyance, “I missed you.” She ruffled his hair; she could easily reach it when lying down. Their position nothing but risqué, even if it didn’t feel like it. His hair was three shades lighter, it suited him. He humbly blushed. “I love you.” Younger men were shameless.
Steam emitted from the two mugs of hot beverages, he had paid for them. A sly wink from the barista, he caught sight of that, salty tears in his tearducts. His heart quenched with anger, eyebrow raised, she lifted the cup to her lips; hot chocolate with marshmallows.
Upon his jealous rage and admitting for it, she broke into little fits of chortles, his anger subsided, taking a sip of his caramel macchiato, his face grew warm. The fact that the most beautiful woman was sitting across from him was too the reasoning.
“Why hot chocolate?”
He’d always have thought she preferred coffee. She shrugged, “felt like it.” Tchaikovsky’s piano concerto playing softly in the background, the withering leaves swept away by the autumn breeze, he mindlessly stared at. “Go out with me, noona.” A small chuckle resounding from the depths of her throat, “Aren’t we already?”
He pouted, childish demeanors showing. “No. Like on an actual date. Let’s go have dinner. I’ll pay.” He reached for his cuppa, his mouth then foamy. “Don’t men always do?” she leaned forward, wiping away the excess clinging dense air bubbles. His ears a deep shade of vermillion. “It’s your birthday, noona. Let’s do something special.” He was neither her lover nor companion, rubbing her palms, she conceded.
“Happy birthday, noona.” Tiffany and co. earrings and a small peck on the cheek, he took her breath away. Her cheeks flushed, it wasn’t the wine. “I love you.” Younger men were unpredictable.
Christmas karaoke night, she declined. Christmas blind date, she declined. Christmas sleepover, she declined. Christmas day with him, she needed other friends.
Was he wearing concealer? He had slipped and fell, a slight bruise adorned his face, a shallow cut grazed his tear-stained cheek. He was still the same; she shook her head, Band-Aids and extreme care, her nimble fingers danced against his skin. They were cold; she stood on her tiptoes and lightly smacked his head. He flinched but smiled, how she prepared for any miniscule complication, that was so her. She also hadn’t changed.
A thick wool scarf her mom had taught her how to knit. A dainty ribbon necklace, he used up his savings for it. She told him to ask for a refund, she wasn’t worth the purchase. He said there’s no such nonsense and put the necklace on for her. Mouth covered with the scarf, his eyes twinkled brightly only for her to see. Her heart racing as her hair brushed his torso ever so slightly, they were that close. “You’re so pretty, noona.” He sighed in awe. “ I love you.” Younger men were stubborn.
Exams and SATs finally over, it was her last day for her of wearing a school uniform. His blazer draped around her, people everywhere teary-eyed, bid their farewells, to the best sunbae they’d ever known.
“Stop wasting time with me.” It was cool under the shade of the tree, no odd sparse spaces where light could seep through. She was wearing the piercings and necklace, with his blazer, she looked adorable.
“You’re wearing them.” Hands over mouth, his tears almost forming.
“I’m not worth your time. You need someone better for you.” An adorable sneeze caught her attention. Curled ends and milky brown tresses, she was sweet. “Look at that Yoon Sunmi. She’s the prettiest underclassman I’ve seen.”
“But I love you, noona.” Younger men were persistent.
People cry, for several reasons actually, that doesn’t make them weak and sensitive. Crying was contagious, she tch-ed, it was annoying. The glassy eyes of people she cared of and several of her followers, she couldn’t bear to see it all at such a joyous event.
Graduation, her time for high school finally and officially over. A new chapter in her life, she leaved behind her memorable senior years and most importantly, him.
Him, she came face to face with him. Him crying wasn’t an exception. He’d cry at mostly anything. From their get-togethers to mundane activities she was forced to join. She hated it. She needn’t see him cry at her last moments there. She wanted to hate this crybaby in front of her, standing taller than her, but feeling lower. This crybaby that had stained the bouquet of lilac lavenders and azure dahlias he’d given her. Mumbling his congratulations, he tried to wipe the last of his tears.
“I love you.” Younger men were sensible.
Some times, she liked to think if, by chance, they could meet again. Their partway of a teary-eyed, love struck sixteen year old and a stern, independent nineteen year old, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. There was no change in ways, either way; he would still always be the teary-eyed, love struck sixteen year old and the stern, independent nineteen year old. Maybe that was how things were supposed to be. Life was a paradox.
Text on hand, it was filled with intention. His way so unruly, she couldn’t say no.
“I’m nineteen now, noona.”
That stupid teary grin, had they parted for too long that he had grown yet another few inches. That his dorky smile could not be erased as he caught sight of her. That his hair slightly darker from that summer. That he had roots and an impeccably straight posture, he felt blessed, that she made the time to see him. His heart bloomed of warmth and gratification. He ever so slightly sobbed when hugging her, chin rested on the top of her head, she did not resist.
Even with her clam shell pink cardigan, milky white blouse and a black circle skirt, she still looked eighteen. He wanted her to dress more casually-per chance a striped sweater and perhaps skinny jeans. It was anything but appropriate for the event, graduation. He felt grown up. Her face being recognized, graduates squealed of joy even with the knowledge that her arrival wasn’t due to them, but for him. She stood on her tip toes even in her four inch strappy heels, she wasn’t sure if it had made her taller, but she patted his head. It was almost a struggle, but it might be one of the last.
“I love you.” Younger men were almost precocious.
Maybe sooner or later, she had come to the realization that that is what she loved about younger men. Things she had repeatedly tried to convince herself, made her fell for him, and fell hard she did.
“Noona, I’m twenty-one.” He once again spoke. She might not ever grow tired of the same phrase. She was bearing the age of twenty-three, the summer warmth made sure never to leave the atmosphere.
She stared at those same glassy eyes, it’d been quite some time, but that old spark never left his gaze. Maybe a new one had replaced hers, for all the flaws he may have, it only made him all the more perfect. It compensated all the hollow feelings she had in the adolescent past.
The cup brought to her lips, she looked expectantly. He stared down his mug, his favorite caramel macchiato with latte art. The heart was supposed to symbolize her feelings, or maybe her longing look had already given it away, the job done.
“I love you.”
For once, she responded with a kiss. Younger men were patient.
Twenty-seven and thirty, they have embarked their journey, never to leave each other’s side again.
“Noona, I’m twenty-seven now.” A mischievous smirk, she was still the most beautiful woman to him.
“You should feel less obliged calling me ‘noona’.” The ring band had sealed off all redundant honorifics.
“I love you, Heeyoung noona.” Stubborn as ever, he cried no more.
“I love you, Jaejoong.” Concedes, as she always had, she can finally see that smile under those tears.
Maybe ‘noona’ will always be that something special that started it all.
a/n : i don't even with this. this is what noob work looks like.
i feel like i did something wrong but can't seem to point it out. did i? this is killing me.please excuse the abuse of comma usage. comments are appreciated <3