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I smiled at him, his forest-green eyes boring into mine, and an involuntary smile sprang to my face. I used to never smile. I reached to set a long raven lock behind his ear, and as I placed it there delicately, thin, slanting red lines on the back of his neck caught my eye and pain flashed across my face.
Caif saw my alarm, and he reached out to stroke my cheek, eyes twinkling when he saw my face smooth. 'It's ok,' he told me gently, and gave that soft, sweet smile reserved for me and me alone. "I don't feel it anymore, Jules. It doesn't hurt. Don't fret." Don't fret. I loved when he talked like that, so different from everyone around us. Then again, he was different-and so was I.
I stared at his eyes and into their mesmerizing depths, at his perfectly chiseled face just inches from my own, and I acted impulsively. My mother had always told me I was impulsive. Here was the proof.
It wasn't like we'd never kissed before. I remembered that first kiss well. But this time, as my lips crushed his passionately, it was different. My hands twisted in his long black hair so like my own, and his arms wrapped around my waste and pulled me closer, closer. Our hips ground together and our breathing was loud, hearts pounding. We weren't acting like two responsible high school kids. We were acting like two kids about to do something very irresponsible.
Caif was the one to finally break away. His eyes shone with excitement, but, as I looked on in disappointment, gradually dimmed. "Well," he murmured, brows raised. "What brought that on?"
"What brought that on?" I asked, expression defiant. And then I sang. It seemed so clichéd to do that in real life, but Caif always told me that he loved to hear me sing more than anything else in the world, so occasionally, as if I were my own High School Musical, I sang to express my feelings.
Swiftly flow the days
I stopped mid-verse and gave him a pointed stare which he ignored. "It's happening, Caif," I told him. "I won't be with you forever. I want to enjoy the time I have." Seeing him start to protest, I interrupted. "I know," I said wearily. "I'm only fifteen. Some people would say I could be with you forever. I know better. Your age process has already started to slow. How am I supposed to be with you when I'm ninety and you don't like a day over thirty?" I was embarrassed to be blinking away sudden tears. I hardly ever cried, either.
Looking at Caif, I saw his face, so full of concern and care, and I knew I never wanted to see another face. None could replace him.
"Sweet," he whispered. "Julia. I love you and I will always love you. And...somehow...I'll find a way. I'll make you live like I do. I won't lose you, Jules. I won't." By the end of Caif's speech, his face had approached mine again. But now it was his move.
Gently, lovingly, he pressed his lips against mine. This kiss was more loving, more...meaningful. Feeling his lips against mine, my fears calmed, replaced with assurance. He wouldn't let me grow old and withered while he stayed young and fresh. He would save me, somehow.
As one we reclined on the wide sofa, our heads resting inches apart, identical midnight-black hair mingling. I was almost asleep when I felt him brush a stray strand of hair back into its' place. "I love you, Julia," he said softly.
"I know," I replied sleepily, and the warmth of his smile lulled me back to rest.