Owning You - A Na Jaemin Fanfic

11. Snapshots

Birds are singing, the morning light is a pale shimmer at the edges of the curtains.

I open my eyes, and spring out of bed. I can't wait to go to school. School with its rules and its dress codes. School is no longer a cage; it has become an exciting new world with the entry of Na Jaemin into my boring, predictable life. I leap out of my limo the moment it pulls up at the entrance, and run in. Which is another first, because I never run to class, I kind of drag myself there. And the reason I'm running? Maybe, he's there, waiting for me. Maybe, he'll uncoil himself from the door and say, in that lazy, flirty drawl of his, Haeri. Just the way he says my name makes goosebumps pop up all over the back of my neck. I've always liked my name, but after he started saying it out so soft, so seductively, like it's his favourite name in the whole universe - well, I have to say I absolutely adore my name now.

I don't see him. Oh, well. Maybe, he hasn't come to school yet.

He texted me last night, just before I went to sleep. The first text I've ever received from him. He must have got my number from his secretary, Ada. I couldn't believe my eyes when I got the text from an unknown number. Then I read it, and I almost died. Nite, Pretty Haeri. Sweet dreams. Just that. I felt giddy. There was a roaring in my ears; my blood surging like a delirious, wild torrent to my head. I stared at the text. I sat there, and chewed my lip, and wondered what I should do. I texted back, Nite. And then I deleted it. Sweet dreams to you, too. I deleted that, too. Good night. Urgh. Too formal. Finally, half an hour later, I picked a sleep emoji with a bunch of zzzz's puffing out the side of a huge head with shut eyes. I hit SEND. Perfect.

So he's not hanging out here waiting for me. No big deal. But the run fizzles out of my feet. I drag myself into class.

She's there. Juda. She looks up, and gives me a look. No, not a look. A glare. What is wrong with this person? Look, I want to tell her. So what if he wasn't waiting for you yesterday? Are you going to keel over and die just because he's not into you? Have some self-respect, for crying out loud. And stop glaring at me as if it's my fault. The boy you like happens to be engaged to me, you annoying little bugger. I should be the one glaring at you. But I don't say anything to her. Some things are best left unsaid. And she with her prickly thorns and bitterness just tire me out. It's the start of a brand new day. Can't she be normal just for one freaking day? Why does she always have to be so angry? I ignore her. I walk past her and her scowl, and sit at my desk.

Suzy breezes in with a huge smile on her face. She is waving a bunch of magazines in her hand.

"Haeri!" she squeals. "Omg. Haeri, you're in the magazines!" She dumps her backpack on her chair, and runs over to my desk. She flips open the magazines. "Look. Here. Here. And here. Your pictures. They're all here. You're famous. You and Jaemin." She jabs a finger excitedly at the pictures. "You guys look so romantic. Like you're in a drama."

"What?" Everybody crowds around her.

"Let me see that."

"It's Haeri! And Na Jaemin."

"You're engaged to Na Jaemin?"

"Omg. You sly creature, you."

"I'm so jealous."

"I'm dead. I'm so sad."

I stare at the pictures. They are in all the magazines. Our families must have arranged this.

They are breathtaking. The photographers are very talented, the setting is sublime, and we look very convincing - the gorgeous Na heir madly in love with his fresh, barely legal, beautiful fiancéé. Snapshots of what must have been a perfect night; it has all been immortalized for the world to see. Jaemin kissing my hand, that brief, obligatory pressing of lips to skin that looks like so much more. Our romantic stroll out of my mansion to his limo, the sun on our smiling faces. His mother kissing my cheek with affection. His father putting his arm around me, welcoming me to the family. Me huddled between my beaming parents. Him smiling at me, sitting beside me as I play the piano, like it is the happiest day of his life. A stroll set amongst white flowers, our backs to the camera, his face half-turned, looking down at me, tiny and fragile, another brief, perfunctory contact frozen into a hopelessly romantic moment in time. So many flawless snapshots of a spectacularly gorgeous falsehood. And God, are they convincing. The photographer has even captured the moment when Jaemin has me try my first taste of champagne, my new fiancéé smiling at me fondly. Oh, how charming it all looks. The shots of our first dance has also ended up in the paper. Someone must have sneaked a couple of pictures when we were in the club. I look flushed and nervous and like I can't take my adoring eyes off him. He looks like he wants to devour me whole. The photographer has even caught us sitting next to each other in the club. We are leaning close together, his eyes intent and serious on mine. We look like we are in love. I stare at this picture the longest. This picture was taken after we danced in the private booth, away from prying eyes and lurking photographers. He ran his hands all over me, as we gyrated to Sexy Back. We had returned to his friends, flush with awareness of each other, hardly able to keep our eyes off each other the rest of the night. Just thinking of it makes my lips dry, my heart pound. Looking at the pictures has shown me the powerful chemistry between us. It is there in his smouldering eyes, his dark gaze; the attraction I feel for him is in my eyes, the glazed look, my parted lips. Anyone looking at these pictures would think we are in love.