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Boy Blue
They’d always wanted a girl.
They wanted a pretty face framed with the silkiest of raven strands, curving around plump cheeks and a toothy smile wide enough to turn her rounded eyes into nothing but lines at the top of her face. They wanted to put her in the most exquisite gowns; adorn her head with a tiara, be dragged from their busy schedules to be forced to play tea. They wanted a princess to dote on, spoil rotten, and blame each other for her devastating outcome. They wanted a little girl who would one day dream of performing on stage in front of millions to the best of her ability, shedding blood, sweat and tears to achieve that goal. She would want to be a model, or an actress, or even a singer - anything her artistic mind could find purchase on. Most of all, she would aspire to become a dancer, just like her mother.
However, what was supposed to be a Chanhee, turned out to be a Chanyeol.
Dark eyebrows knit together and pink cotton lips pursed in a minute show of existential despair. Too-long legs were anchored to the floor by large, flat, socked feet, a long torso almost hanging off the other end, and a messy head of auburn locks dangled from it. The bed had been long too-small for him, having surpassed average height into something people called giant. Dark, round eyes stared, unblinking, at the upside down image of the rather large poster of Park Bom, a dancer of epic proportions. She was toned but slender, and in this picture, the frozen image of grace. Sweat beaded every part of her exposed skin, her lips a loosened ‘O’ of concentration. She was a performer - a woman who always astounded the crowd with her talents; she was a woman of virtue and sincerity, always hard-working and doing her best until her career ended with a wrong twisting of her left ankle. But she was still loved by thousands, and especially by the two most important people in her world: her husband, actor and model Park Yoochun, and gangly, tall old him - Park Chanyeol.
And today, he was going to see her off on a long journey that would last a lifetime.
The quiet of his mind had slowly fallen away to the soft ticking of the analog wall clock and the slight groan of the ceiling fan above him. Chanyeol sighed quietly and with a heave, pulled himself to sit upright and face the whitewashed wood of his bedroom door. He looked around at the just-now tidied room and nodded to himself in approval. He stood and made his way to the closet, tugging off the hanger his black dress shirt and slipping it on over the black wife beater and tucking it into his loosened slacks. The tall twenty year old arranged himself until he was deemed socially acceptable. Walking over to the full-body mirror, he glanced at the unruly mop of curls and huffed silently.
Mother wouldn’t like it, he thought, already moving to find the styling gel and a comb.
No sooner than he was done, hair neatly slicked back and coifed to the side, there was a knock at the door. Knowing that it was just a formality before the door was going to be opened anyway, Chanyeol flicked his gaze to the part of the mirror that reflected the entrance. The door opened to reveal the large, worried eyes of his good friend, Do Kyungsoo, peeking at him from below short, mussed hair.
“They’re waiting on you,” the shorter man murmured, seemingly afraid to shatter the carefully crafted silence that blanketed the entire household. Kyungsoo opened the door a little more, silently ushering Chanyeol out and down the spiral staircase. The foyer was empty, everyone else seemingly already packed into their respective vehicles. At the front door, a small object was held under his nose. He glanced at Kyungsoo who already had on his own dark sunglasses. Chanyeol took the pair, and put them on.
Leaving the quiet confines of the house was like shedding skin. It was like putting on a fresh one smeared with the incoherent blend of eager questions, dotted in flashes, and knitted together with chaos that was the paparazzi. Both friends walked side by side toward the black limousine, Kyungsoo sliding in behind Chanyeol and closing the door to the newer, thicker skin of calm.
Chanyeol raised his shades to sit atop slicked-back brown locks, dull, wide eyes capturing those of his father’s. They no longer held the slight gleam of sleepy awareness, but the bite of loss and grief. Yoochun stared, unseeing, now, at the picture of the other half of his soul.
He knew what his father was thinking. She was one of the few things father and son saw eye-to-eye on. They agree that she was special to both of them; they agree that it was a hard blow - an irreplaceable loss, the pivotal occurrence in their lives…
Chanyeol made sure that her funeral would be every bit as beautiful as she was, satisfied that she would be pleased even while a small part of the world wept with him.
Kyungsoo had stayed the night of the funeral, only leaving the next afternoon because of family matters of his own. Chanyeol had merely wished him well and returned to his room, wincing as he walked by the muffled sobs of his father.
It pained Chanyeol, not to be able to comfort his own dad. He’d known the man all his life, suffered the death of the single most important woman in both of their lives; he could relate, damn it all! But he just couldn’t go in there. Not only because seeing his father in such a state would most likely send him careening in the same direction, but because it wouldn’t be the best thing for either of them. At all.
And so he continued on, quietly shutting the door behind him and immediately drowning both their sorrows in an ocean of rap music.
Tomorrow would be the reading of Park Bom’s last Will and Testament.
A/N: I’m sorry that it’s so short, but since I’m typing this just after finishing the chapter, I may find something else to add to it. But this is it! Your [short] first look into Boy Blue. Lately, I’ve been craving a sullen Chanyeol - the complete opposite to what everyone knows him as. I think a sullen Chanyeol can come from a disappointment child, right? Right.
I really want you all to comment and tell me what you think. I know there are a lot of long sentences, but it had to be done. Comments make faster updates, believe me. Those things perform miracles.
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