You Infire Me

Chapter Six: Mountain Gust

"Close your eyes and turn your face into the wind. Feel it sweep along your skin in an invisible ocean of exultation. Suddenly, you know you are alive."
— Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

"For example," Professor Evans laser-points at the screen behind her, "this tab says to put your first finger on the second string of the second fret, your second finger on the first string of the third fret, and your third finger on the sixth string of the third fret. Got it?"

All of your classmates nod their heads. It seems that you're the only one who's lost.

"Yoongi, would you help out Y/N while the rest of the class and I move on?"

You scoff on the inside, but all your body manages to do is freeze.

"Of course, Professor," Yoongi replies, standing up and walking towards the door. "We'll go to one of the practice rooms down the hall."

You follow him, unsure of whether to be mortified or grateful. You suppose you're a little bit of both.

"Thank you," you whisper to him as you both exit the classroom and the door closes behind you. "I couldn't imagine spending another second in there."

"Don't mention it," he blinks, a fraction of a smile spreading across his pretty lips. "It's really the worst when you're a little lost. I know how you feel."

Yes. You do.

You understand me.

"Besides, Professor Evans is moving a little fast for a beginning class. Reading tabs is a hard thing to learn," he unlocks the door to a private, sound-proof practice room and walks inside, flipping on the light. "But you'll get the hang of it. I'm sure."

He sits on the piano bench, letting you have the only actual chair in the tiny room. He gets out his phone, pulls out an example guitar tab, and starts explaining it to you. You begin to understand it more, thanks to his one-on-one instruction. Within ten minutes of being alone with him, you're playing through the first line of a simple song.

He smiles as you successfully complete the song's opener for the fifth time. It's a proud smile, one that reveals his pink gums and small, straight teeth. This is the first time you've seen him smile this way—and it's certainly the first time you've seen anyone smile at you this way. It's breathtaking. It's refreshing.

It melts you from the inside out.

"Good job," his smile vanishes as he closes his eyes and mouth to make his expression say that he's impressed with you. He raises his hands to clap softly as if at an orchestra performance. "Bravo!"

You giggle—really giggle. It's been a long time since you've done that.

"I keep messing upon the third part here," you point to the third measure in the tab on his phone.

"Yeah, that's when the tempo starts to pick up a bit," he nods understandingly.

"Let me practice that part again," you say, lifting your fingers to the guitar's neck.

"Wait," you hear him say.

You don't have time to process what's happening before you see his fingers reaching towards yours, before you feel his skin on your skin. He lifts your forefinger to move it a string up, and slides your ring finger over to the right. His touch is gentle and soft: calm in its correction, innocent in its intentions.