You Infire Me

Chapter Ten: Our Secret

"Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one, live happily and tell no one, people ruin beautiful things."
— Khalil Gibran

I have no idea what's going on. We've been running for at least ten minutes. I'm not in the right kind of shoes for this—I don't know how much farther I can go. And I have no idea where we are. This part of DC appears to be a maze.

So why am I having so much fun?

You suddenly stop running when Yoongi pulls you behind a building into a narrow alleyway. It's a tight fit, and being so close to him reminds you of sharing that corner together on Halloween night: your body pressed against his, your noses almost touching. Now, it's so dark and cold that you can see his breath, rising just inches from your eyes.

I should think that's gross. Since it's human-produced vapor—all spittle and hot gas and germs, you remind yourself. But it's Yoongi. And you're inclined to think that anything he creates is beautiful: even (and almost especially) breath. Recovering from your run together, you both breathe heavily, your vapors joining in a cloud between you in the freezing air. It's not gross, you realize. It's actually kind of beautiful.

He finally draws his eyes away from yours and notices a nearby fire escape.

"Come on," he says, taking your hand in his again. You climb up the rusty iron ladder until you reach the roof of the building. Yoongi ventures out first onto its surface, and then helps you do the same. He walks over to the building's edge to look down at the street below, to see if he can notice any pursuers. The street below is filled with cars but devoid of people. He breathes a sigh of relief, and when he does, you notice that he has yet to let go of your hand.

You both lean against the building's brick wall—the only thing preventing you from toppling down ten stories—and gaze out into the city beyond. It's lit up, yellow and white dots against a backdrop that's darker than darkness itself. It's a contrast that resonates with you: one that your soul can understand.

"There are no skyscrapers here," you hear his voice say, poignantly reflective.

"No, it's kind of a rule in DC," you explain to him. "Something about preserving the historical integrity of the city. You can't build buildings taller than a certain height."

He chuckles lightly and smiles, keeping his lips drawn shut. "You know everything, don't you?"

"I don't know why we just ran all the way over here," your eyes scan the streets, trying to identify the direction you came from. "And I'm afraid I don't truly know who you are."

A look of sadness passes through his clear, dark eyes, making you regret your comment immediately. But I can't take it back. I need him to tell me. Everything.

He doesn't say anything for quite some time. He just allows his eyes to droop down to examine your entwined hands where they sit on top of the ledge.

"It's . . ." he swallows and furrows his brow. "It's hard for me to open up to people."

"It's okay, Yoongi," you immediately console him, unable to resist the calling to provide him comfort. "You don't have to open up to me any more than you already have. I . . . I mean, I want to know more about you. I want to know everything about you. But we've only known each other for a couple of months, so I completely understand if you're not comfortable telling me everything–"

"This is a prettier sight to me," he interrupts.

"What?" You wonder.

"This," he shifts his hand a bit to draw your attention to your fingers wrapped in his, sitting there between you. "I think this is prettier than the view."