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Description
Sometimes it’s hard to smile.

Jyou knows this. But even so – it’s hard to see him sitting there with that expression.

It’s not even that the expression is terribly negative: it’s a bit melancholy, sure, but not anything he should really be upset about. Regardless, Jyou wants him to smile.

It takes all of his nerve, but Jyou screws up his courage and goes to sit next to the blond boy.

The reception he gets is predictably minimal: a nod of acknowledgment and perhaps a word or two. Jyou takes a deep breath and tries not to be scared of messing this up, of making things worse.

He talks, stumbling over the words like he always does. But somehow this seems worse than every other time.

This feels like a failure.

It’s not like Yamato’s reaction is bad. It’s just…there. Like the expression on his face. And Jyou is uncomfortably aware that he can’t even recall what he’s just said. How can he make anyone smile if his words are so unmemorable that even he can’t remember them? He might guess it was something about the weather or maybe it was a question about Takeru but his sentence fell apart as his nerves sapped up all his energy.

Yamato’s expression hasn’t really changed, and – not for the first time – Jyou wishes he could just be good at this. Good with people, and at making them happy.

Jyou realizes that he’s frowning. How can he ask Yamato to smile when he comes over with an unpleasant expression of his own? He tries to force a smile, but he’s as bad at that as he’s ever been. Poor awkward Jyou, acting like a buffoon and unable to fake a smile. How typical.

He keeps trying, anyway.

And finally Yamato reacts, laughing when he catches sight of Jyou’s face. To Jyou’s ears, it sounds a little bitter, and his heart sinks even further. Of course he knew already that he’d mess it all up. Fail, like he always does. But now he’s gone a step beyond simple failure: he’s made things worse. Because a bitter smile doesn’t suits Yamato even less than the apathy from earlier.

Perhaps some of the panic shows in his face, mixing with the still awkward and silly smile. Perhaps he’s just that silly all on his own, regardless of the circumstances. But suddenly Yamato’s laugh is genuine, and it occurs to him that the whole situation is pretty absurd.

He’s not sure why that’s so funny, except that it just is, and now he’s laughing too. Harder than he has in a long time, if he’s honest; hard enough to make him short of breath. And when the laughter dies down they both have real smiles on their faces. Not especially big ones, it’s true – but genuine all the same..

Yamato shakes his head slightly, as if not sure what to make of the situation, and takes out his harmonica. He doesn’t say a word, but his smile doesn’t fade.

Neither does Jyou’s, and he thinks he’s finally figured out what he needs to do if he wants Yamato to smile. If he wants anyone to smile.

Be there, because it’s easier to smile together.

Description
Sometimes it’s hard to smile.

Jyou knows this. But even so – it’s hard to see him sitting there with that expression.

It’s not even that the expression is terribly negative: it’s a bit melancholy, sure, but not anything he should really be upset about. Regardless, Jyou wants him to smile.

It takes all of his nerve, but Jyou screws up his courage and goes to sit next to the blond boy.

The reception he gets is predictably minimal: a nod of acknowledgment and perhaps a word or two. Jyou takes a deep breath and tries not to be scared of messing this up, of making things worse.

He talks, stumbling over the words like he always does. But somehow this seems worse than every other time.

This feels like a failure.

It’s not like Yamato’s reaction is bad. It’s just…there. Like the expression on his face. And Jyou is uncomfortably aware that he can’t even recall what he’s just said. How can he make anyone smile if his words are so unmemorable that even he can’t remember them? He might guess it was something about the weather or maybe it was a question about Takeru but his sentence fell apart as his nerves sapped up all his energy.

Yamato’s expression hasn’t really changed, and – not for the first time – Jyou wishes he could just be good at this. Good with people, and at making them happy.

Jyou realizes that he’s frowning. How can he ask Yamato to smile when he comes over with an unpleasant expression of his own? He tries to force a smile, but he’s as bad at that as he’s ever been. Poor awkward Jyou, acting like a buffoon and unable to fake a smile. How typical.

He keeps trying, anyway.

And finally Yamato reacts, laughing when he catches sight of Jyou’s face. To Jyou’s ears, it sounds a little bitter, and his heart sinks even further. Of course he knew already that he’d mess it all up. Fail, like he always does. But now he’s gone a step beyond simple failure: he’s made things worse. Because a bitter smile doesn’t suits Yamato even less than the apathy from earlier.

Perhaps some of the panic shows in his face, mixing with the still awkward and silly smile. Perhaps he’s just that silly all on his own, regardless of the circumstances. But suddenly Yamato’s laugh is genuine, and it occurs to him that the whole situation is pretty absurd.

He’s not sure why that’s so funny, except that it just is, and now he’s laughing too. Harder than he has in a long time, if he’s honest; hard enough to make him short of breath. And when the laughter dies down they both have real smiles on their faces. Not especially big ones, it’s true – but genuine all the same..

Yamato shakes his head slightly, as if not sure what to make of the situation, and takes out his harmonica. He doesn’t say a word, but his smile doesn’t fade.

Neither does Jyou’s, and he thinks he’s finally figured out what he needs to do if he wants Yamato to smile. If he wants anyone to smile.

Be there, because it’s easier to smile together.