Jaemin the Icy Prince on Campus - Na Jaemin NCT

50. I've Got You

The sun is filtering in through the filmy drapes.

It is morning, and I am lying in Jaemin's arms, my head cradled on his chest. The entire moment is frozen, stamped and stored forever into my bottle of precious memories.

He kisses me like he knows me, like he's known me all of his life. I raise my hand to touch his stubbled jaw, and he kisses my palm, and links his fingers into mine. I brush my lips against his, and he smiles against my lips. I slide my knee up a little to get out of bed, and he hooks a hand under my leg.

“Mina. Don't go,” he sighs, drawing me in. "Don't move. Stay a little longer with me. Just a moment longer..."

I can’t speak as he trails his mouth to my ear. He sighs again, and my world narrows down a little more. When he kisses my pulse, I know he is thinking about the miracle that has brought me back into his life, and the first tears well up in my eyes.

We shower together. We take our time. We lather soap on each other's bodies and rinse and kiss, our lips sliding a little, slippery with foam. He leans towards me, a smile in his eyes. The corner of his mouth is curling, as though he is about to laugh.

He laughs, and it is my most favourite sound in the world.

I tip my head back, and I see his eyes, shining with the wonder of me. He draws a deep, shaky breath.

"Look at you," he says almost in a whisper. His voice is hushed, awed. "You are so beautiful. I can't believe you are here with me. If you only knew how many times I've dreamed of you, of this - "

My lips part, and he kisses me, turning me with one arm about my shoulders so that he can twine the other about my waist. His mouth tastes wistful and wet and sweet and sad all at the same time.

His room is painted yellow mixed with milky white.

“Are these your favorite colours?” I ask.

“Yes.” There’s a smile in his voice. His eyes are watching me.

“I love it.” I sound reverent. Yellow is such an unexpected colour, so fresh and bright, so unlike my Jaemin. The dark brown headboard, plushly upholstered in leather, saves the room from femininity.

He’s behind me, close enough to lean against, but I resist. His hair is damp, and he's wearing an old tee shirt and grey track bottoms. The scent of his skin is fogging my brain. His bed is sombre, and the linen is white, and his bathroom is polished and shiny, complete with white towels and a black toothbrush holder and a black toothbrush.

"Ask me why." He is grinning.

"Why?" I wrinkle my brow.

"Ask me why I painted it yellow and white." He smirks. "That's what you are wondering. Why did Na Jaemin choose to paint his bedroom a girlish shade of yellow and white?"

"Okay." I smirk back. "Fine. I wondered. So why?"

"I painted it yellow for summer." His voice is quiet. "Summer for you, from our first kiss in the alley. White for that dress you wore when you danced on your balcony, when I fell in love with you."

I feel a pang in my heart, and my breath catches in my throat. I blink away the tears, and hug the doorframe.

The sun has come out again and is glinting through the glass windows onto the polished floor.

Jaemin ruffles his hair, and says, "I want to show you something." I walk to where he's pointing, through an archway into a cozy sitting room. It's furnished with big blue cotton sofas and a massive leather bean bag and an old TV balanced on a chair. Behind the sofa are battered wooden shelves, haphazardly filled with books and magazines and plants and a big cardboard box.