You Infire Me

Chapter Seven: Would You?

"Do not seek the because—in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions."
— Anaïs Nin, Henry and June

Two weeks pass, and mid-October welcomes fall colors with a flourish. The mountains around Hunsaker are set ablaze with yellows and oranges and reds. The weather cools off fast, and no amount of herbal tea prevents you from catching a cold. It knocks you down for a week, and you fall behind in your classes, but you're able to catch up thanks to the wonderful professors in the English department.

Guitar class, however, presents a challenge. Since you don't have a guitar of your own, you can't practice it at home. You send Min Yoongi the TA a formal, professionally formatted email detailing your predicament. All he writes in response is, "I'll take care of it. Don't worry. :)" With naps to take and books to read for pleasure, you file guitar class in the "things I'll try not to worry about for now" cabinet in your brain, and subsequently forget about it entirely.

So, when the doorbell rings one rainy afternoon—the afternoon of what you hope will be your last sick day—you're startled to see Min Yoongi standing behind the door, a guitar in each hand.

"I'm here to catch you up on all you've missed," he says, lips curving into a half-smile that's somehow stunning—every inch of it.

You blink, trying not to worry about your disheveled, pajama-clad state.

"Thanks, Yoongi," you smooth your hair and welcome him in to your living room. "I might still be a bit contagious, though, so be careful."

"No worries. Nice place," he says, eyes traveling to the posters on the wall. "You like Lupe Fiasco?"

"Those are my roommate Bianca's," you answer.

"She's got good taste." He sets one of the guitars on the couch beside him, takes off his rain coat, and lifts his arm up to scratch the back of his neck. You catch yourself staring at his bicep and look away.

Would he stop doing that? You silently beg. He's driving me crazy.

"So," he starts unzipping his guitar's case, "shall we get started?"

"Would you like some tea first? Or ramen?" You walk towards the kitchen. He remains silent, so you venture, "Or . . . both?"

"Now you're speaking my language," he laughs.

"I'll boil some water," you smile.

After your both slurp down your tea and noodles, Yoongi pulls out some sheets of paper with guitar tabs written on them. In pencil, by hand.

"This isn't what the rest of the class has been learning," he begins, "but you've been on a bit of a different track since the beginning, so Professor Evans said it was okay to have you learn this instead. I just thought you'd enjoy it more."

"What is it?" You raise your eyebrows.

He hands you the tab. It's four pages long, and doesn't look all that easy. The top of the first page reads "Untitled Song #139".

And in tiny block handwriting below the title appear the words: "Composed by Min Yoongi".

"Yoongi . . . you wrote this?" You shuffle through the pages again, astounded. "I mean, I knew you wrote your own lyrics for your raps, but . . . you write music, too?"

He nods.

"And you've written . . . one hundred and thirty-eight other songs?"