This is when I realize: I want that. I want him to chase me. But it’s not just the chase. I want it to be him. There’s a shimmering, intoxicating kind of thrill to it, this game between us. I am his puzzle and he is my lock, and it’s an arms race to solve the other first. But somewhere in all the knots and twists and trapdoors, he turned to an arsonist, leaving his embers in my veins, smoke on my tongue, a fire burning softly in my heart. And it will not die easy. I want him to chase me. I want to know what it feels like to be caught. I want to burn with him.
