You Infire Me

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Grad Party

"In the middle of the road, in the moment, you want to give up, shout out even louder: So What?"
— BTS, "So What?"

The morning following graduation, you and Yoongi fly to your hometown to attend the party your parents had decided to throw you. At first, you hated the idea of having to greet and receive congratulations from everyone in your neighborhood—the people who'd seen you grow up. (After all, who wants to be reminded of their cringe-worthy middle school self?) But you realized that it would make your parents and extended family happy; and you'd have Yoongi by your side the entire time. Two introverts together were better than one alone.

As soon as you both wrestle your suitcases out of the car and into the house, Yoongi requests to see your room.

"You know you won't be sleeping in there," you remind him. "My parents are old-fashioned that way."

"I figured," he replies with a smirk. "And that's not a problem. I just . . . I want to see where my Y/N grew up."

So you lead him to your bedroom and crack open the door.

"Ah," he muses, eyes scanning the books and framed pictures on your shelves. He holds his hands clasped behind him, like he's surveying the world's most interesting artifact. Artifacts tell stories, and you suppose that the novels and photographs and paraphernalia scattered around your room do too. They tell the story of you.

You realize that you're ready to leave behind those chapters and write new ones. In fact, you're ready to write a new story entirely: the story of you and Yoongi. A story of two.

"Oh, my goodness," his fingers fall on a framed picture from your childhood, lifting it up to examine it more closely. His eyes run over its details as they would the fractals of a priceless diamond. "Little Y/N was adorable."

You grin and plop down on your bed. "More adorable than grown Y/N?"

He puts the photo back in its place and finds a spot next to you on the edge of your bed, stretching an arm around you, forcing you to lean back a little. Your eyes widen at his brashness.

"Of course not," he answers. "Grown Y/N is adorable, too. But with the added advantage of being unbelievably sexy."

He blinks his eyes in that innocent way of his, but the color in his irises deepens into anything but innocence. He continues to move towards you, pushing you backwards, downwards. His lips land on your neck, and as they travel down your skin and across your collarbone, he whispers,

"My sexy, smart college graduate. Who will one day be my wife."

Just when you begin to close your eyes, you hear someone clear their throat.

Your mother stands in the doorway.

"Y/N," she begins, "it's time to get ready for your party. The guests will start arriving in about an hour, and your father's getting ready to fire up the grill. Yoongi, perhaps you'd like to scroll through Y/N's old baby albums with me?"

Startled, but enthralled at the prospect of seeing more pictures of little you, Yoongi clears his throat and politely responds, "I'd love to."

He gives your hand a squeeze and then joins your mother in the hallway. Before she leads him into the living room, she ducks her head back in and shout-whispers at you.

"You're lucky it was me and not your father!"

________________________

As expected, your parents invited the whole neighborhood. People you hadn't seen in years dotted their backyard. Strangely enough, knowing that they were there for your parents—and not really for you—gave you comfort. It seemed to lower the stakes a bit.

Still, everyone (or almost everyone) made an effort to come and talk to you. All congratulated you on your graduation. Many congratulated you and Yoongi, having heard the news of your engagement. He stuck by your side the entire time, often squeezing your hand, hip, or shoulder as a nonverbal you can do this. And he helped out in conversations whenever he felt he could.

It ended up being quite a nice party, actually. Your parents had strung lights all over the place, and they'd tastefully decorated tables with Hunsaker College's colors. Your dad had whipped up some delicious grilled meat and vegetables, and the sheet cake your mom had ordered was sweet and satisfying. You ate a sizeable piece, trying not to imagine what it would be like to smash a bit of cake into Yoongi's face on your wedding day.

When you find yourself alone with him, ducked away in an empty corner of your backyard (in true Yoongi and Y/N style), you take the opportunity to ask him a burning question.

"Hey Yoongs," you request his attention after taking a sip of your drink.

He lowers his red solo cup and replies, "Yes, my Y/N?"

"What . . . what kind of wedding do you want?" Realizing your forwardness, you hold out a hand and back up a bit. "I mean, I just know you mentioned a wedding in Korea, once. And this party has me thinking about . . ."

"Our wedding?" He prompts.

You nod.

He sets down his drink and grips both your hands in his, holding them close to his chest. "I'd be happy with whatever wedding you want. You're my bride; if you're happy, I'm happy."

"You're just saying that."

He stares at you with serious eyes, lowering his chin to look at you squarely. "You know I never 'just say' anything. I mean it. Whatever you'd like to do, I'm good with."

You groan a bit. "There's just so much to do," you bemoan, "and no time to do it. You've met my family, but I've still got to meet yours. We've got to decide where to do it, and who all to invite, and what food to serve, and what flowers to get. I've got to find a dress that doesn't make me look like an overweight cupcake-"

"Oh, please," he scoffs. "You could wear an actual giant cupcake and still be the most gorgeous woman in the world."

You laugh. "Then I'm tempted."

"It would be quite the step up from edible underwear," he quips.

You laugh again, bestowing a light slap on his arm as punishment before leaning in to rest forehead against his. "See? These past few minutes alone with you have been more fun than the entire party. This is all I want. This is all I need. You and me—just you and me. No lights, no sparkles, no glamour. No invitations, no flowers, no ridiculously expensive venue. Just you and me."

He bats his eyelashes, their softness grazing your skin. "Really?" He asks.

As you look into his gaze, your eyes are clear, your conviction real. "Really."

"Then . . . I have an idea."

"What?"

"Do you think your dad would let us borrow the car?"

You furrow your brow. "I mean, he said we could use it to go into town–"

Yoongi shakes his head. "No, I'm thinking of somewhere a little farther."

You tighten your grip on his hands, commanding his full attention. "Min Yoongi, what's brewing in that mind of yours?"

"Only the best plan ever," he smirks. "One that, based on your most recent monologue, you'll agree with. But there's one caveat."

"Oh yeah?" You playfully run your thumb along his shirt collar and draw your face nearer his. "And what's that?"

He pecks your lips, then turns away from the party, pointing himself towards the house. Specifically, the garage.

"I still want you to wear a wedding dress."