Owning You - A Na Jaemin Fanfic

32. Flies

It's a new day. The rain fell during the night, but I slept like a log.

I turn my face toward the soggy world outside, and breathe in the clean, earthy air.

It's almost eight. I make my way down the front steps, off to spread sweetness and light. I swing my eyes west: Two skinny guys loiter outside, one of them pointing at the woods.

I slide my sights across, and the sun comes out behind the clouds. There is a waft of cool, crisp air, a flash of colour - golden honey - and Na Jaemin steps out into the sunlight.

I see him at a distance, hands shoved in jeans pockets, walking ahead of me, head lowered and headed toward the blue skies and the outdoor buffet brunch, set up on a long table, white tablecloth fluttering in the wind. I turn and race around the building, slowing on the final corner so I can saunter towards him, but by the time I get there he is talking to a girl. I recognize her; she is the girl with the big hair who was hanging onto his arm last night. He laughs at something she says, touches the top of her arm, a light brush, over in the blink of an eye, and I can see the pleasure in her face from his attention. The two of them walk away. I grit my teeth. I want to pluck every strand of hair out from her scalp.

But when I reach the eating area, the girl with the big hair is almost obscured, a tiny speck in a sea of giggly, bubbly girls. Bangles rattle, red lips pout. A girl in a butter-yellow sweater steps up close to him, speaking quickly, teeth bared in a grin, her hands a flurry. He listens to her, nodding, his lips curved in a slight smile.

I slide in quietly, and sit on a beach chair. Namju is nowhere to be seen. He texted me earlier that he's going to a village nearby; Do you want to come? I texted back, No. Oh, he answers. I guess I'll see you later then. I nibble at a sausage; it's burnt. The sweet potato is much better.

"Haeri," Jaemin says, and my resentment melts, like wisps of sea mist in the heat of his sun.

"Jaemin." I fork some salad into my mouth.

He sits down next to me, and leans forward, closing his eyes, his nose grazing my hair. "Lemons," he murmurs. "Bright eye-blinding yellow lemons."

"I brought my own shampoo."

"You did, huh," he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Where's - " he looks around.

"Namju?" He nods, unsmiling. "He went to a village. He asked me if I wanted to go."

"Why didn't you?" His eyes are watching me intently.

"I didn't feel like it." I shrug. "Perhaps I should have." I stare at the girls. They stare back at me, their mouths turned down. "You should get back to your fan club."

He smiles, his face relaxing. "Are you jealous?" His voice is soft.

"No." I fork a bit of sweet potato. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'd rather watch you eat." He frowns at my paper plate, then at me. "You're very pale. Are you eating? I'm worried you'll fade away."

"I'm fine." I watch him amble over to the buffet table and fill his paper plate with food.

"Here," he says, settling himself down next to me, and dumping more chicken on my plate. "Eat up." He forks a bite of fillet and blows it, then lifts it to my mouth. "Eat," he says, and because the fangirls are watching like hawks, I open my mouth, and let him pop it in. He smiles with satisfaction and the girls glower. They sulk when he wipes my mouth with a paper napkin carefully, but being the bitches that they are, they come over and plonk down next to him and across from him, and start to flirt with him. They ignore me. Their voices are high-pitched and grate on me, but I block them out of my head, like flies buzzing outside a glass window. He smiles, and chats with them, but he is distracted; his eyes keep wandering back to me. He gets up in the middle of some bimbo asking him, Jaemin, do you want to come over to our dorm later? We're having a party, and walks off without answering, leaving her flushed and angry. He is back a minute later with a paper cup. Here you go, he murmurs, It's orange juice. Your favourite, and lifts it to my lips, and watches me with dark eyes, as I sip from it, and I watch him as he takes it from me, and sips from the same spot where my mouth has left a pink mark; I smile at him, only for him, and he smiles back, only for me, and the fangirls sulk. So, Jaemin, the angry girl says petulantly, Are you coming to the party?

I'll go, he says, but only if Haeri goes, and he turns to me, and says, Do you want to go to the party? The girl gasps, the fangirls suck in their breaths, and I pretend to think. I lick my lips, thinking...thinking. I have a million thoughts a day and they're all about Jaemin.

Finally I say, smiling at them casually as if they are old friends, "Maybe." They glare at me. They so don't want me to go.

There, he says, leaning back, and smiling at the girls, That's our answer. Maybe.

Our. I like the sound of that. Me and him. Jaemin and Haeri.

The girls are tough, I have to admit. They don't give up. They are talking to him about things I don't know about, things said to deliberately exclude me. They talk about their families, their fathers' golf courses, their holiday resorts. Hey, Jaemin, the bimbo with the big boobs says, Remember that resort in Thailand we went to? Your mum and my mum bought tons of stuff. The seashell brooches were awesome! The T-shirts were so cheap! Your dad loved the crabs! And another girl with a too-perfect nose chips in, Jaemin, my family's going on a cruise to Hawaii. Do you want to join us? Remember that trip our families took to Kyoto? We had such fun! They talk and laugh and flirt with him over my head, as if I am a block of wood. I listen to them talk, and Jaemin laugh, and I chew my food quietly, and don't say a word.

I eat the last of my chicken, and wipe my mouth very carefully. I lift the paper cup and drain the last of the orange juice.

Okay. Time to swat the flies. They ruined my brunch.