She knew that look. That wide, unfaltering, lopsided grin. The raised eyebrows combined with the ever rare instance of visible eyes and face. The laugh- confident, so sure and certain, and a disposition that could bring any man to take on the world and win. The gleam in the eyes the eyes that were never clearly seen, the challenging, happy go lucky tone of the voice, the charming baritone, light, yet soft and ready to change at the second it was required. It was a voice that dared anyone to challenge it.
The eyebrow would rise over another in an inquisitive matter and the grin would fade to a smirk. The mouth would never ask any questions or say anything directly. Words would be spoken in implications and innuendoes, sarcasm and jokes that provoked others to reply. Each time that eyebrow would rise in amusement like such a reply was quietly hilarious. It made others keep their guard. Really, it was the perfect shield; say nothing and expose everything in a matter of seconds.
So condescending, she would think sourly a majority of the time.
She knew that look. After years of seeing it employed, seeing it used, seeing it succeed time and time again after practice and exposure effortlessly, she knew the signs. She dreaded it and found it amusing at the same time. Eventually the eyes would turn on her, the smirk would become a grin of a predator, and the eyes would lock onto hers and stare unwaveringly into her with such confidence she squirmed. The eyebrow would twitch and the hands would slowly tap onto the table as the mouth asked, coaxed, coerced, her into speaking even when she didn’t want to. She’d scoff and turn but the signs wouldn’t relent. She’d attempt to laugh in amusement but it would falter under the stare. Eventually she conceded, resigned, submitted to the docile yet disgustingly devious whims and was left shivering in her thoughts, trying to shake the after image of the dark, chocolate eyes that held no significance at all, from her mind.
Of course it was always a treat to see it employed on others. It was a last resort, so to speak. The prey backed into a corner, surrounded by bigger and worse things, left only with its thoughts about how to escape. Fear, nervousness, anxiousness provoked such actions. Whether it would lash out, defend, flee, or lie down and die. She knew that look. She knew it as a child when bullies would circle him, she knew it as a brand new teenager as he faced off intimidating odds in the form of seemingly violent dogs, and she saw it every time he played a new game that was hard, challenging, and just a little scary. His face would harden; his normally stoic demeanor would melt slowly into a suave, cool smile that would evolve into a grin. His eyes would gleam and his shoulders would straighten, his mouth showing off his canines and his voice joked and manipulated to get what was needed. He became cunning, charming, and manipulative when he was scared. When he was nervous or sad he would brush everything off, using metaphors that didn’t exist and cocky lines that made her sometimes believe whatever he said. He wasn’t a different person then. It happened with every new person that dared challenge him, that dared to question who he was and just how much he could take.
She hated it, yet admired it so much.
To have that confidence on call or on demand, or even when it was needed. To steel herself in front of insults, threats jabs and jibes and just laugh it all off with a casual wave of the hand and a precise, backhanded and/or sarcastic insult. To change from a quiet demure person to a charming challenger able to talk anyone to her side if she so wished. She envied that, and she hated it. She hated seeing him cornered, she hated knowing what he was thinking, she shared his tiredness of people like that- challengers, obnoxious, ignorant fools who just wouldn’t leave him alone because they were drawn to him like moths to light. She knew he enjoyed it. He enjoyed breaking their pride and ego, barraging them with insult after insult, sarcastically and confidently reassuring that he wouldn’t stop until they walked away. Words backed up with sheer self-assurance, a confidence of a god, and a toothy grin with the meaning of a predator ready to lunge. And lunge it did, for every word that was spoken became stronger.
Christmas, the mistletoe. Snow outside, soft and fluffy and cold and depressing. Cooped up in a single house as warm as can be, clothed in a red and green sweater given as a Christmas present. Alcohol tinged her breath, the sides of her vision blurry and her mind just tripping of her next sentence. Confidence bolstered within her, or at least it had. She believed that such confidence belonged to anyone with a means of receiving it. Her way was in fact, a cheap beer that she couldn’t hold on her best day. She wanted to be like him. She wanted to be calm, suave, charming and manipulative. She wanted to be the person that people avoided and yet were drawn to. She wanted to stand out in the white light as a blotch of black ink, bold and unwavering. She knew she could. For once she wanted to be the one, the only one that was able to break his stride, push pass the confidence and the insults and sarcasm to the boy inside and corner him just because she could.
She wanted to kiss.
Her breath panting and a frown looking slurred and sleepy, she wondered why he never acted such a way with her. She was always with him, witnessing every time he pulled off such a feat. She was there when he got that look in his eye and sometimes his mouth would just spontaneously melt into a wide grin when she was the only one in the room. It was as if he had seen something exciting, larger than life and just as good, and downright hilarious as well. Then he’d look at her and it would melt slowly, to the smile she’d known her entire life. That quiet one whose thoughts were unpredictable and even more frustrating than the grin. He’d corner her and back off. He’d inquire sincerely, not just ask and ignore like he would to everyone else. She noticed this. He would ignore her in that way however, by not treating her to the same look everyone else did even when she would yell at him or order him, he left her out of the loop. She supposed she should have been used to that, they both should have been.
It hadn’t been until she felt his breath, completely untainted with the stench of alcohol that she realized his breath was heavy, hot, unscented against her face, causing her to swoon in a daze. His arm smacked against the wall behind her and she jumped. Neither of them was tall enough to reach the mistletoe above them, but the wind from his hand was enough to make it swing. Her eyes trailed it shadow from the doorway to him, to finally realize that he had her cornered. His eyes were blank, only a single glint shining. His hair was neatly parted for once and that insufferable cheeky grin was plastered on his face. He chuckled at a thought in his head that she’d never know and she frowned. She hadn’t even made a crack in it.
She backed away to such an extent her back hit the wall and she began to slide to the left. His grin faded and his eyebrows met each other in an even line as his eyes glazed over to the side to look at her escape like she was a bug crawling on the wall. His hand moved to her shoulder, stopping her just as she was about to round the corner. He grinned again. She looked at him and submitted once more.
That smile, ever so confident and cheeky. She smiled as well, past her tipsy and her fuzzy vision. The gaze that pierced her bluntly and wouldn’t falter. She felt relieved, happy to know that. She had broken it. She succeeded, albeit not in the way she wished. All the signs were there, complete with the genuinely amused chuckle he only ever used with her.
All of them just like always. Her eyes flickered to each part, her dazed smirk curling into a sloppy smile. Uncertainty, nervousness and anxiousness. His eyes went from hers to her lips, to the reflection of the mistletoe from the kitchen window. Her arm and hand shook against her now that she could finally feel it. His hands were warm even against her sweater. His throat swallowed saliva that she had yet to see, yet to taste.
She was the ink blotch. She succeeded where all others failed, and yet she was still wrong. Though this time, she was extremely glad for that fact.
“Tradition is tradition, so pucker up.” His grin faltered visibly and then it was bolstered, showing off his teeth as he thought of yet another thought she’d never know. As his lips fell on hers her tipsy drove her to meet his lips, her hands clumsily fumbling over his chin. She was exuberantly inclined to comply.
