You Infire Me

Chapter Sixteen: Christmas in NYC, Part Three

"With luck, it might even snow for us."
— Haruki Murakami, After Dark

"What do you mean the road is closed?" Yoongi draws his eyebrows together as he looks up at the highway patrol officer. "The entire thing? Not just a lane?"

"That's correct, sir. In fact, all of the freeways leaving the city are shut down. And they will be until tomorrow morning, after the sun rises and melts some of this mess." The officer gestures behind him to the road completely covered in snow and ice. "Unless you've got 4-wheel drive . . . which, by the looks of this fine piece of machinery here, you don't."

Yoongi nods despondently. "I don't."

"Then I can't let you through," the officer says with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry. Turn around, and get back into the city."

Yoongi does as he's told, flipping a 180 easily in his Porsche and aiming back towards the skyscrapers. You look down into the freezing waters of the Hudson River below as you cross the bridge.

"Oh, Y/N," he brings a hand to his forehead as he switches lanes, driving a little too fast, given the snowy circumstances. "I'm so sorry. Tomorrow is Christmas Day. I won't be able to get you back in time to catch your flight home tonight." He pulls at the hair at the back of his head in exasperation. "Let me try to find you a flight from JFK."

He makes a few calls, but the airport's been shut down, too. No flights are entering or leaving the city. It's the biggest snowstorm New York's seen in forty years. The weather doesn't care that it's Christmas Eve.

"Let's just try to find a place to stay, Yoongs," you tell him as he pulls over onto a side street. "And please don't feel like this is your fault. Not even the weather reporters saw this coming."

You lay your hand on his, wrapping your fingers around the side of his palm. You even lean over and press a light kiss to his cheek, feeling a little bit of stubble brush against your skin. Anything to pull him out of himself; anything to get him to stop blaming himself ruthlessly. Never mind your unspoken agreement, the set of silent rules between you two, the line you've decided not to cross. What happens in New York . . . stays in New York.

"Okay," he relaxes, a small smile crawling across his lips. "I know a few hotels we can try."

You try one, two, three, then ten. Each one purports to be booked up. With the road and airport closures, gobs of tourists are stuck inside the city, and they've snatched up every hotel you try.

"Where are the boys staying? We could try calling them," you propose. No other option seems available. It's growing dark outside, and you've long since grown worried.

But Yoongi shakes his head. "They flew out this morning early, before the blizzard came." He rests his head on the Porsche's steering wheel in resignation—but then perks up with an idea. "But we could try the hotel they were at. It'll be pricey, but don't worry. I can pick it up." Your cheeks turn red with embarrassment. "Or better yet, I could charge our rooms to my old label's account." He wiggles his eyebrows mischievously. This makes you relax. Think of it as his Christmas gift to you. One with a larger price tag than any gift you've ever received.

Yoongi parallel parks right outside the five-star hotel (how that spot was available, you'll never be able to explain) and you both dash inside, running up to the counter and demanding the attention of the attendant.

"Hi. Two rooms, please," Yoongi urges, out of breath.

"I'm sorry, sir," says the attendant. Your heart drops. "But we only have one room left."