You Infire Me

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Graduation

"The surest way to make your dreams come true is to live them."
— Roy T. Bennett

May arrives with its blooms and blossoms—nature's celebratory fanfare to sing the praises of warmer weather. While you know that the daffodils, irises, and tulips aren't awakening just for you, you pretend that they are. After meeting Yoongi and becoming his, you no longer see the point in pretending that wondrous and marvelous things don't exist. You give up on telling yourself that the universe isn't mindful of you.

You adjust your cap and gown over your white dress, liking what you see in the mirror. Someone who is accomplished. Someone who is worthwhile. Someone who is happy. Finally, finally happy.

"Let me see that ring again," comes your mother's voice from behind you as she steps into your room. "Oh! You're all ready! Oh, honey, you look beautiful." She crosses the room to you, threading her fingers gently through your hair without messing it up. She smiles sweetly, and her pride in you floods your chest with warmth.

You offer a grin in return, wrap her in your arms for a second, then offer your left hand to show her the engagement ring Yoongi's given you.

"Oh my goodness," she gasps. "Did it get shinier since the last time I saw it?"

You giggle. "I don't think so, mom." You pull her into a hug again, this time resting your chin on her shoulder. "Thank you for being so supportive, mom. I know Yoongi and I haven't known each other all that long, but in all truthfulness, it feels like I've known him for my entire life. I never thought I'd be saying such a thing. It feels silly sometimes . . . but it feels right. It makes sense."

She hums in understanding. "It's like I've always told you," she begins, her voice quiet and soothing in your ear, "when you know, you know. You still shouldn't jump into anything haphazardly, of course. You need to know the person very well, and that takes time."

"Of course," you agree, breaking away from her arms to show her your serious expression.

"But, honey, you've found something special. I can tell," she places a hand on your cheek. "And your father and I love him. You don't need to worry about that."

"Good," you laugh. "Cause I love him, too."

Your mother starts to fiddle with your hair a little more, kindly fussing over your appearance the way she always has. When she's done, you cross over to your window to check and make sure the weather's still allowing sunny skies to prevail. Your wish is granted—no need for a raincoat on your graduation day.

Then, you spot Yoongi coming up the sidewalk to your apartment, a fresh bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"He came as a surprise, for sure," you murmur, half to your mother and half just to yourself. "But such a welcome one."

________________________

Somehow, someway, everything went according to plan. You'd expected that they'd skip your name, or that you'd trip up the stairs to the stage, or that you'd actually forgotten to take one last GE class and wouldn't be receiving a diploma yet after all. But they announced your name—even pronounced it perfectly—and you walked up to the president of Hunsaker, shook his hand, and accepted your diploma without incident. It was as if both your anxiety and your clumsiness decided to take a day off.

Before you can find Yoongi and your parents, you run into Bianca, Tristan, and Vivian, who crash into you with hugs and words of congratulations. Their own graduation caps nearly fall off their heads in the process, tassels swinging and bobby pins threatening to come loose.

After you offer congratulations in return, Bianca pipes up, "Well, who would've guessed that Y/N would be the one of us to graduate with a ring on her finger!"

"Yoongi's a lucky guy," Vivian says through a smile.

"I hope you know that we'll be planning you the bachelorette party of the century," Tristan pulls out her phone. "Ordering edible underwear now."

You fuss at her, trying to shove her phone away. Then, you hear a deep cough from behind you. An ahem-I'm-here kind of cough.

Your fiancée stands there in his freshly pressed suit, holding a flower necklace.

"Congratulations, my Y/N," he murmurs excitedly, proudly, as he guides the flowers over your head and helps them settle around your neck. Good. Maybe he didn't hear the thing about the edible underwear.

"Today is just an explosion of flowers from you," you raise an eyebrow. "First the bouquet you brought to my apartment, and now this?"

"Oh, don't worry. I've ordered more to show up at your door this evening," he mutters, puffing his chest a little. You're tempted to let your jaw drop, but catch it as you take his arm. "Let's go find your parents so I can take pictures of you three. But before we do . . . what's this I heard about some edible underwear?"

"I'll kill you."

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After plenty of picture taking (Yoongi insisted on capturing hundreds "to show his future children how gorgeous and smart their mother had always been"), you drive an hour and a half to get to the only remotely fancy restaurant in the vicinity: the Olive Garden a few towns over. (Backwoods West Virginia isn't exactly known for fine dining.) The pasta you order is good, but it makes you miss the cooking of the BigHit chefs from your time secluded in the mountains. Perhaps someone will spot us here and we can go into cabin quarantine again, you silently wish.

"Would y'all like some dessert?" The cute, freckly-faced waitress asks in an Appalachian accent. "Are we celebrating anything special today?"

"Yes," Yoongi answers. "Two chocolate lasagnas, please. My fiancée just graduated from college this morning." Yoongi grips your hand under the table and stares at you with the darkest, proudest eyes.

"Oh, congratulations!" The waitress claps her hands. "That's so exciting! What are your plans now that you're done with school?"

Ah, the question everyone asks. At least now I have an answer ready.

"I'm starting a graduate program at NYU in the fall," you respond.

"She's a smart cookie," your father mentions, grinning. "We're very proud of her."

And I'm . . . I'm proud of myself, you realize. You've made it through; you've obtained your college degree. Though you told yourself you couldn't do it countless, times, you've accomplished something big. So, brain, you conclude, it turns out you were wrong. I'm not pathetic, or worthless, or unlovable, or terrible. I've done something amazing. I powered through when you told me to give up. The joke's on you. All of your poking and prodding at my self-image has, in the end, made me stronger.

I know you'll keep poking and prodding. I know I'll never be rid of you—that side of you that makes me travel down the road of dark thoughts, that leads me to places I'd rather not be. But now I know that I can pull myself out. I can get myself to places I want to be. To places I deserve to be, like here.

And there's nothing you can do to stop me, brain. Nothing.