Status: one shot || complete

He Had the Biggest Smile

But Was the Biggest Pain in the Ass

His appearance wasn’t the only thing that annoyed me on occasion, it was also his attitude. He was a dreamer, lazily slipping into a half-conscious state, eyes glazing over, and spewing theory after theory and aspiration after aspiration. But we were small town people with small town lives and nothing extraordinary was ever going to happen to us. We were destined to finish school, get a job at the gas station and complain about the shitty pay until we quit, then rot in our graves. He blatantly ignored my pessimism and continued to dream.

But one thing I could say about him
was that when he smiled, it was the
best fucking thing in the universe.


His crow’s feet became proper laugh lines and he’d shake uncontrollably if I managed to say or do something stupid enough. He’d try and hide his face and when I caught him staring he’d poke his tongue out at me and smile that infectious smile. Then I’d end up smiling and I’d forget about his optimism and horrible wardrobe choices. I’d hit his arm and give him an insult and he’d throw one right back, ducking down and pressing his lips to my forehead.

He was also taller than me. I only came up to his shoulder, which really fucking sucked. I couldn’t kiss him whenever I wanted and have it be a surprise, I have to pull him down to my level, unless he was sitting down. In which I got to climb into his lap and nuzzle into the base of his throat and hear the fucking deep rumble of his laughter as the light stubble that covered my face tickled him, then he’d pull me up and kiss me, murmuring “stop that” against my lips. I’d pull back and laugh and then he’d deposit me on the ground by standing up and keeping his neck out of my reach.

That was what made us work. We’d fuck around
and I’d be a dick and he’d be too
attached and then we’d have a fall out.


I’d apologise profusely and beg for his forgiveness and he’d be hesitant. He’d frown or give me a sad face, so I’d walk forward and push up the corners of his mouth with my fingertips and urge him to smile because I couldn’t bear to not see the fucking ray of sunshine that was him.

“I love you. I really fucking do.” I’d say and I’d give him one of my own lopsided smiles. He’d smile bigger and say,

“I love it when you smile,” and skim his eyes over my baggy tee shirt and too tight skinny jeans and the single shoe on my left foot. He’d run his eyes over my dull blue orbs masked by a dirty blonde mop of hair and lack of definition in my slightly chubby face, and then I’d smile at him properly because I realised it made him happy and his own smile would grow wider and the effects would continue going around. I’d eventually lift a smoke up to my lips with fingers shaking with the lack of nicotine and I’d offer him one and he’d decline. Give me a few short lines of how cigarettes are bad for me, and I’d know he’d forgiven me – again.

“I love you, too.” He’d say once he was finished and then he’d take the smoke out of my lips and throw it on the ground, stomping on it. He’d then kiss my acid lips and inhale my sour breath.

And I’d realise that we’re just fucked up kids,
the both of us, looking for a little
piece of love in this fucking unfair world.
♠ ♠ ♠
This was different and I liked it.