Jaemin the Icy Prince on Campus - Na Jaemin NCT

34. Once in A Lifetime

He catches my sleeve, just as I plunge into a quiet backstreet. He wraps my coat round my shivering shoulders, then he wraps his arms round my coat, holding me until the heat penetrates my clothes and my bones. It's so very, very warm, standing here, snug in his arms, his heart thudding against my cheek, and I close my eyes because I'm in tears again. 

"Mina," he whispers brokenly. "Please, don't cry. Don't. Please, stop. Please. I can't bear it."

"I'm such a fool," I whisper. "I don't know why I can't stop crying. Just give me a minute." But I cry even harder. The more I dash at my tears, the more they well up.

"Because it's hard. It's so fucking hard." His voice is raw, hoarse. He's in pain, like I am.

He rubs my back as he speaks, his body sheltering mine from the snow. My back is turned to the wall, and my fight is gone because he's feeling the same way I do and he's holding me close. 

"I wanted you to kiss me, Jaemin,' I say, tiredly. I want to be honest with him, these last few minutes with him, before I walk out of his life. 

He strokes my hair, cups my chin, looks me in the eyes. "If I tell you something, do you promise to never tell another living soul?"

I swallow, and nod mutely, and he takes my face between both of his hands.

"I wanted to kiss you back there in the cafe, Mina, and I want to kiss you even more now."

He looks away, down the length of the deserted street and then back at me again. "For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to kiss you, and when you're looking at me like that, oh God," he closes his eyes, and takes a deep shaky breath, "I can't. I can't." His voice is an impassioned cry of anguish. "I'm not a fucking superhero."

Then he leans me against the wall with the weight of his body, and because he's not a fucking superhero, he kisses me. He dips his head and kisses me in the snow, his mouth trembling, or perhaps it is mine, and I'm crying and kissing him back, and my breath floats out like a dusty whisper, aching with longing, and mingles with his for the last time. His breathing is as shallow as mine, and he holds my face as if I am so very precious and then pushes his fingers into my hair, cupping my head in his hands.

This is the last time we will ever kiss each other. He knows it, and I know it, and it hurts, it hurts so bad, I am gasping with the pain. It is everywhere, everywhere, in every part of me. Somewhere, in all the snow, I can see my broken heart, shattered into a million pieces.

I cling to the lapels of his winter coat, our kiss salty with my tears, and I open my eyes to look at him because I want to remember this kiss till the day I die. His eyes are closed, his snow-damp lashes a dark sweep on his cheek, remembering, memorising like me, our final kiss, our once-in-a-lifetime kiss, the last of all our kisses, a kiss to sustain us for the rest of our lives.

We break off at last. I feel my body shiver and chill, bereft of his warmth; breathing on my own saps all of my strength, and my breaths come in sharp, painful bursts.

"Let's be kind to each other about this," he says quietly. "We both know it shouldn't have happened, but it doesn't change anything."

"No, of course not, dummy," I whisper. I even manage a smile through my tears. "It doesn't change anything. Not a thing."

"It'll be our secret," he says.

"Our secret," I nod vigorously.

"To carry to the grave."

"Absolutely. Cross my heart, and swear to die." I giggle, and he swallows, and passes an unsteady hand over his face.

"We can't tell a soul."

"Not a soul," I say gravely, and place my hand on my heart, like I'm singing the National Anthem.

On cue, a taxi trundles slowly along the side street towards us, and he raises his hand to flag it down. He wants me to get far, far away from him, before we do something we regret. It is a wise decision. I am agreeing with him on everything. How odd. We used to bicker all the time when we were together. It made the reuniting so much sweeter, and at the thought, my stomach clenches, and the jab to my heart is so piercing I gasp.

"Not a soul," he reminds me quietly as he opens the door and puts my bags inside.

"Not a soul," I whisper.

He hands the driver a note. 

"Take her home safely," he says, and then he turns to me, standing there, snowflakes mingling with the tears streaming down my face.

He gathers me close and presses his lips to my ear.

"Don't cry,' he says. 'I love you, Kim Mina."

He pushes me into the taxi and his eyes hold mine for a few long seconds as he slams my door. I'm reminded of the last time I told him I loved him on the beach, the sand cold and damp between my toes. Then I had no control. It isn't like that today. I know who he is, and how he tastes, and for a split second I long to open the door of the taxi, to stop our lives from careening into disaster.

I don't. Of course I don't. I can't. Too much is at stake here. His father's life. His mother's. Luna's.

Despite the pretty snowstorm out there, this isn't a fairy tale. The world is too hard, too real; there is no room for make-believe, for what might have been.

I watch him recede as the taxi lurches cautiously away, and he watches me too, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders bunched against the wind. I lay my head against the cold glass as we turn the corner, and the tears flow like rain.

The taxi stops in front of my house. I open my gate and unlock the door and stumble in like an old woman. There is something wrong with me. I am an empty, limp thing. Sadness has hollowed me out. The blood has dried inside of me. It crumbles. I almost break into pieces on the stairs.

.................................................................................................................................

Author's Note

These last three chapters have been hard to write, but I tried to make them real, and less melodramatic. It's my tribute to the wondrous ability of the human mind to endure, and accept, and be stoic in the face of adversity. I believe that in our most challenging moments, we are able to discover strengths within ourselves that we never knew existed. I hope you like what I have written. Thank you for reading. I love all your lovely, lovely comments. Thank you for being with me all the way into my journey into Mina's heart. And it's not over yet, so I'm very excited. I don't have a fixed story in my head. I wake up in the morning with a fuzzy image, but when I start writing, the image just shifts. It's like eating a rainbow icecream. Everytime I reach a new colour and a new layer, it tastes different. Nothing is fixed, and that image I woke up with in the morning morphs into something new altogether. Okay, i just wanted to have you peek into my head...lol...it's my way of saying thank you, and I love you.