Prince Caspian -Jung Yoonoh NCT

29. Kiss Me

And then he leans down and kisses me.

He kisses me, soft and gentle on my lips. He tastes of regret and remorse, of comfort and warmth in the shadows of trees. He kisses me long and soft, and when he pulls away, he touches my mouth with his fingers.

I scramble - I can't think of another word to describe my panicky flight - to the far side of the room, putting the bed between us.

I need to think, to focus. 

I need to have that bed between us.

He is looking at me, his eyes amused.

"Why are you hiding there for?"

He stepped on my heart and made me cry tonight.

"Sweetheart, there's no way this tiny bed can keep me from you, you know that, don't you?"

"Stop," I say in desperation, holding up both of my hands to ward him off, when he makes as if to walk towards me. "I - I need to think."

"Think?"

"I can't think when you're kiss - when you're near me." I say miserably. "So stay away."

He starts to laugh, the gust of good humour rippling through his chest and his throat.

How odd.

All that hurt, that sadness is kind of blurred now, and hazy about the edges, soft and cold like ice-cream. 

To be honest, it started melting the second the door swung open, and I saw him there in the doorway, like the sun, the light glinting on his hair, and turning it to gold. 

And the fact that he had come, knowing that he had cared enough to come and see how I was doing - well, it warmed my heart, and patched up some of the cuts and bruises, and purged a little of that choking poison, and lightened the heaviness that had been weighing upon my heart.

What a contrast to moments ago, when streams were flowing down my face, and I was consumed by the blackest of despair... 

Even Rosita has been reduced to a dot, a tiny blot of grey, hovering on the edge of my consciousness.

I am drained from all that crying.

My heart is so tired.

He has stopped laughing, and is watching me from where he is standing, lounging indolently against the drapes.

"Why were you crying?" His voice is very gentle, his eyes soft, oddly tender.

"I - " My mouth opens; I struggle to answer, to explain.

"Is it because you saw - us? Rosita?"

Wordlessly, I nod.

"We are old friends, Rosita and I, I have known her for years..." 

His hands make a dismissive movement. I don't think Rosita would be happy to hear his summing-up of their so-called friendship. 

Bastard. 

You must think I'm so naive. 

"Sometimes, I forget how very young you are..." He is continuing, and his eyes are very kind, like an elderly cousin's. There is no fire in them. "All these things are very new to you. I keep forgetting that you have led a very sheltered life."

He gives me a reassuring, kindly smile. It looks like Mr. Prescott's smile.

For some reason, I am starting to get very annoyed. 

I can't decide what I am annoyed with - the correct, formal manner in which he is talking to me, or the blandness, the calmness in those eyes.

"I have been around far longer than you." He smiles faintly. "Naturally it is to be expected that I would have a good deal more - er, experience than you."