You Infire Me

Chapter Three: Guitar Class

"I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me."
—Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

The campus of Hunsaker College sparkles and shines on the first day of fall semester. The sky is a crisp, remarkable shade of blue, and what you assume has to be the world's greenest grass blankets the ground. You flash a smile at the student gardeners who are eagerly planting beds of mums at the library's entrance, knowing they'll almost certainly grin back at you. They are planting flowers, after all. It's just about the happiest minimum-wage job you can think of.

Your classes that morning had been fairly uneventful; the first day always involves going over the syllabus, which interests absolutely no one. You eat your classic peanut butter sandwich for lunch under your favorite tree—the same one you've eaten lunch under since you were a freshman.

Old habits die hard, especially when the thought of letting them die fills you with dread.

So when you get another text from Yoongi asking to meet up on campus later, you don't hesitate to turn him down again. You come up with an excuse about having to go home because you felt sick. Getting to know him would mean admitting a new person into your life, which would mean change. Hanging out with him could result in him becoming your boyfriend, which would mean a scary change. Your brain's flight or fight response said to fly, so you did.

I don't want a boyfriend, or even a guy friend. Ever, you conclude within yourself. I just want to sit under this tree for the rest of my life.

But by 1:45, with no homework yet and no more sandwich to eat, you find yourself bored and actually excited for your Guitar for Beginners class. You walk to the music building, find the main atrium, and admire the colorful posters advertising upcoming concerts. One in particular catches your eye:

"Mental Map: Rap for the Mind," it reads. "Come enjoy a showcase of local rappers who will share their stories about mental health. Tickets are $10. All proceeds will be donated to the Counseling Office at Hunsaker Student Services."

I didn't know we had a counseling office, you think. You've never been that much into rap, really, but this seems interesting. And you've never been to a concert at Hunsaker, though it's your senior year—might as well go to one before you graduate.

Before I leave this place forever.

There are flyers beneath the poster, so you grab one. It's this Friday at 8:00. Maybe Bianca will want to come with you, if only to see if any of the rappers are cute.

You check the clock. It's 2:05. Crap, I'm late to class. You'd been so distracted by the posters that you forgot find your classroom. Panicking, you find the nearest map of the building, locate the room number, and run off down the hall. By the time you find your seat, it's 2:08, and the professor is deep into her rehearsed, annual syllabus speech. Late on the first day, you chide yourself. Way to make a great first impression.

After a few minutes, you begin to relax and focus on the professor's words instead of your own self-reprimand.

But then, you notice a shape in the corner behind the professor—a figure sitting cross-legged in a chair in the deep, dark recesses of the classroom. You can't make out much, but you think you see a mop of dark hair covering his forehead and a pair of unmistakable legs in dark, tight jeans.