You Infire Me

Chapter Twenty-Six: Getaway

"As much as my heart flutters, I'm worried. Destiny is jealous of us."
—Jimin

"Let's turn this impromptu quarantine into a romantic getaway," Yoongi suggests, raising his delicate glass of red wine over the Italian dinner spread out on the dining table between you. "What do you say?"

"I say yes," you laugh, "but it kind of has been a romantic getaway this whole time, Yoongs." He cocks his head, silently asking you to elaborate. "We're here, in this beautiful, remote spot, all alone—probably on our own private mountain—except for the bodyguards, maids, and chefs BigHit flew in for us. It's like we're on our honeymoon."

Yoongi almost chokes on his chicken piccata.

"Except that we're not, of course," you correct yourself, panicked. You stab a piece of ravioli and center your eyes on your own glass of wine. Nice one, Y/N. A honeymoon? Why did you have to say that?

"We're not," your fiancée remarks from the other end of the table. Tonight, he's in a suit, his combed his hair back, and you can hardly fathom the effect it's having on you. (Exhibit A: the honeymoon comment.) "We're not on our . . . honeymoon," he repeats, more slowly this time, "but . . . I wouldn't mind if we were."

You gulp.

You watch his Adam's apple slide rise and fall as he swallows a bite of pasta. Your eyes don't leave his figure as he takes another sip of his wine, then stands up and crosses over to where you sit. He leans down, placing one hand on the back of your chair and loosening his tie with the other, his eyes diving into yours. And traveling all over your body.

"We're not on our honeymoon," he says again, this time in a low whisper. "But if we were, do you know what I'd do?"

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy.

You swallow again. "What?"

He bites his lip, then murmurs, "I'd pick you up, carry you in my arms to that room, throw you down on the bed, and . . ."

His voice trails off.

He breaks into a laugh, falling forward a bit to lean his forehead against yours. "I'm just kidding, my Y/N. Stop sweating and relax. I'm only teasing you cause you're so much fun to tease."

You feel your chest open up in a breath. "I didn't mind it, truly," you tell him. "You can keep going. If you want."

"Yeah?" Surprise shows on his face. "But Y/N . . . I mean, I'd be happy to, but we've never really talked about . . . this. I just assumed, what with what you've told me about thinking kissing is gross–"

"Do you think I think kissing you is gross?" You raise your eyebrows. "I do it all the time."

"I–I know–"

"So keep going."

He inhales deliberation, exhales resolution. Tracing a line from your forehead to your jaw, he cups your cheek with all the tenderness in the world. "I don't think I should, my Y/N. You've had an emotional day, a really hard day–"

"That you made better," you interject, threading your hand into his shirt collar. You're surprised at yourself: your sudden confidence, your sudden intensity.

He nods at your comment, pausing before continuing. "I'll always be here to make your days better. And eventually, I'll be able to make it better . . . in that way. But I think we should think about it and talk about it and be really careful before we jump into anything–"