Jaemin the Icy Prince on Campus - Na Jaemin NCT

54. Tumbling

He catches my hand at the curb and walks across the street with me. When we reach my house, he carefully takes my face in his hands and kisses me, a faint brush of the lips, sweet and fleeting.

"Can I see you again?" It is already dark, even though it is not yet 5.00 pm.

He is standing directly in front of a streetlamp and it casts an ethereal glow around his shoulders.

"What would you do if I said no?"

"Don't say no."

"Come over to my house tomorrow," I blurt. "We can bake a cake."

"Bake a cake?" He laughs, and my heart squeezes a little. "Do you even know how to?"

"No," I smile, to stop myself from hauling him into my house. "But you can teach me."

"I'm a good teacher." His lips tilt up, but his gaze is hot on mine. "Your parents?"

I shake my head. "They're not in. They're going to a wedding. They're going off this evening. They'll be back the day after tomorrow."

"I see," he says softly. I blush. "What time?"

I make him wait for my answer. I pretend to think about it. I bite my lip and frown. He watches me. His eyes are amused. He knows I'm pretending.

"2.00 pm?" I say, primly.

"1.00 pm," he murmurs. "Not a minute later." He trails a fingertip over my lower lip with his thumb. "And stop pretending. You know you want me as much as I want you."

And then he walks away, leaving me disappointed. I had wanted him to kiss me goodbye.

Jaemin arrives five minutes early the next day.

"For you," he says, handing me a bottle of wine and a small potted bush. It is sprouting a single yellow flower, and I pause to smell it. "Yellow pansy?" I say in half surprise.

"It reminds me of you," he says. "It looks delicate, but it's tough. It survives winter."

He looks around my living room.

"It's still the same," he says softly, almost as if he's talking to himself. "Nothing's changed." His eyes light up. "You used to have long hair," he says sauntering over to a collage of pictures on my wall. I reach up and finger my shorter strands. "You cut your hair." His eyes sweep over my hair like a warm caress.

"Yes. I needed a change." To forget you, I almost add. I had loped off twelve inches the day after I landed in Manchester. I clear my throat and duck into the kitchen.

I pull out mixing bowls and ingredients and Jaemin fashions chef hats for us out of paper towels and I giggle. This time last year I thought I would never see him again and here he is in my kitchen. We laugh a lot and when the batter is ready to be poured into the cake pan, he sours the mood.

"Luna makes the best chocolate cake." I glare at him because I don't want to think about his clever ex-wife, AND I've never baked a cake before in my life. "It melts in the mouth." I crack an egg viciously. "She makes a mean red velvet cake as well," he gushes. I pick up a handful of batter and fling it toward his face. I miss, and it lands on the wall behind his head. He turns to look at it.

"You know," he says with surprising calm, "you really need to work on your aim."

Before I know what is happening, he turns his entire bowl upside-down over my head. I am dripping brown batter all over the floor, laughing so hard I can barely stand. I reach for the counter to steady myself and feel my feet slip out from underneath me. He reaches out a hand to grab me, and I smack his hand away, and try to smear batter on him. I smash it into his face. He yelps, and in seconds, my tiny kitchen is a war zone. We throw eggs, flour and oil, and when those run out, we launch handfuls of chocolate chips at each other. At some point, I tackle him, and we go sliding to the floor. We are laughing so hard, tears are spilling from my batter-crusted eyes. I am leaning over him, as he lays sprawled on his back. There is egg on his nose, and both of his eyebrows are caked in flour. I can't imagine what I must look like. I hover above him, and just like that, the air shifts, and the laughter fades from our faces. His eyes are on my mouth and I am breathless. My heart is pressed somewhere against his ribcage and I wonder if he can feel it beating like a mad thing in my chest.