When she returned just before dusk, we ate a meagre supper and retreated to the tent. Sleeping back to back, I did not look at her.

We seldom talked about the trip. When I did approach her, her expression was always confused, as if the whole thing had never happened. For the longest time, I deemed it to be a fever dream.

Even so, for several weeks, I couldn't look at Flare the same. Or maybe, I looked at her as too much of the same, of her sensational boldness and her unrestrained passion and her buoyant redness.

I never quite got over it, even as the rest of the year went by uneventfully.

My room's heater was broken for most of January and I would cower in bed. At that time, I caught the bug and had horrible chills. I had to spend several days in Flare's apartment as she nursed me with warmth.

Exams were about as expected, and I ended somewhere in the top quarter of the class. Then, at the end of April, I bid farewell to my dorm room and returned to Fitzroy Harbour.

I had once longed for summer; now, without her, it was miserable.

For four months, I hid in my bedroom, browsing the internet and napping. My parents didn't like that I didn't get any sunshine but praised me for the studying I didn't do.

In this boredom, I got into reading.

It started with an offhand message to Ron.

What are you up to?

Reading.

What book?

It wasn't a traditional book, but rather a web novel. These were fun stories that anyone could post, most with questionable quality.

Despite that, I was hooked.

Maybe it was the low barrier to entry, the process of a story being constructed, or the direct connection with an aspiring novelist. Either way, it was the distraction I needed, and I resolved to try it sooner or later.

In the new term, I took this newfound hobby to the back of the lecture hall. When most students took notes, I hunkered down and stared at my phone screen. I escaped with nonsensical plots and illogical characters who could have been written by the girl across the aisle—and that was all the more wonderful for it.

Sophomore year also came with another escape.

I had to find housing, and I knew the perfect place. To my surprise, my mother consented even though Flare's apartment was a single bedroom. With that, Flare helped me move in on a fateful Sunday morning.

It went without saying that it was quite a warm year.

Additionally, our little adventures into the campgrounds became increasingly bold. We made another pilgrimage into Algonquin during reading week, travelling all the way to Burntroot Lake. That name was quite fitting because we may have caused a minor bushfire that was quickly stifled by the rains.

We continued throughout the first semester and into winter.

I remember that on New Year's Eve, I was reading on the couch when Flare returned. She seemed out of breath and paused to give me a quick kiss.

"What have you got there?" I asked.

Flare had been struggling with a dolly of boxes. "Something for tonight."

I set the packages on the floor. They were marked with Chinese characters and must have been over twenty kilos in gross weight. "Where did you get this?"

She waved a hand. "Oh, that's not important."

When the sky darkened, we crowded into the car and drove along to 401 to Oshawa, a town that felt like an industrial suburb of Toronto. We passed the GM plant and came to an abandoned industrial park on the town's edge.

Our destination was a long-defunct cereal plant, not exactly the typical place to spend New Year's.

But were feeling excited and eagerly separated the thirty sets of fireworks. We first set up half of the rockets across the parking lot. We left the rest of our belongings on a bench bolted by the plant's entrance.

"Here you are." Flare passed me a mug of cocoa.

I savoured it. "You make a damn good hot chocolate."

"Why thank you." Flare took a sip from the mug.

"So how do you want to do this?"

"One at a time?"

"Sure."

Flare jogged through the snow and lit the first of the firework sets. We settled on the bench and covered ourselves in blankets.

I had lit fireworks before, but these were different. These weren't boxes, more like crates: heavy, large, and quite possibly illegal. The first firework shot into the sky, becoming red lighting and mighty thunder.

I jumped in my seat, drawing giggles from Flare.

Her giggling was silenced by the whistle of the next rockets. Violets, crimsons, silvers; golden flowers, and emerald showers: these foreign fireworks were overwhelming—no, alive—at the thirty paces we watched from.

My eyes were filled with spots by the time the last Roman Candle went off.

Flare's eyes were filled with gleams instead. "Goddamn!"

I coughed. "Goddamn, indeed."

Flare gave me a smile which I reciprocated. She hopped to her feet and ran off shouting: "I'll light the next one!"

When she returned, we cowered under the covers and gawked at the spectacle of pyrotechnic wizardry. And when that was done, she'd run off like a puppy, light another, and return to my side.

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It was a pretty fun cycle.

That was truer on the tenth set when we got frisky. This time, Flare did not run off when the fireworks ended. Rather, she only stood when our mouths were feeling quite satisfied. She dragged me to my feet as well.

"Here." Flare tapped me on my nose. "I want you to do the next one."

"But how could I? You were having so much fun."

"I can't hog it all." She placed the lighter into my hand.

I turned it in my hand.

"Tell you what," Flare said. "Let's light it together."

She brought me before the bundle of fuses, and I flicked on the lighter. I remember it was such a small flame to initiate such a large explosion.

Flare's hands were cupped around mine; her face was beside mine. She whispered: "Light them all!"

Together, we ran the lighter through the array, stopping at each of the remaining fuses. After the last one, Flare's hands flew off. "We'd better get moving!"

She ran off towards the bench and I chased after her through the snow.

We were sprawled across the bench when the rockets when off. The display was so bright that I could feel its warmth, radiating downward and mixing with the warmth of our bodies.

I remember that when the silence returned, we couldn't see a single thing: we were flash blinded for a solid five minutes.

There was a certain thrill to complete sightlessness, our hands probing when our eyes could not. I remember that when my vision returned, Flare was far less clothed than she had been. However, she soon stopped.

I paused too. "What's wrong?"

Flare slid off me and onto the ground. She fastened her coat and slipped on her boots.

"What is it?"

"You see, Orson. We still have half our fireworks." But she did not head towards the remaining boxes. Instead, she led me into the old factory.

The entrance was secured with a chain. However, one of the windows had been blown out and we entered into an office space.

"What are we doing here?"

"Just a little expedition."

Using our phones for light, we passed through rows of abandoned cubicles and entered the production area. It was a huge indoor space full of disassembled conveyors and the shells of industrial ovens. Looming in the far corner were three massive silos.

Flare pointed at the center of the plant, a small open area between two driers. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I have some idea."

"Then shall we?" She planted another kiss on my cheek and returned whence we came.

I touched the spot where her lips had made contact. I turned and followed.

Together, we pulled the dolly across the parking lot. We passed the boxes through the broken window. Afterwards, it took eight trips to haul it all onto the production floor.

When I arrived with the final box, Flare had already prepared the fuse—fourteen individual fuses bound into one. She took the last box and added it with the others, arranged into a flower.

Flare handed me the lighter and stared at me with her ruby eyes. Barring the glow of our cellphones, it was the only thing I could see.

Despite my yearning, I hesitated. "You sure it's a good idea?"

"Positive," she purred.

"You sure this is fine?"

"Oh, go ahead." Flare must have noticed my trembling fingers because she added: "Don't worry, I'm with you." She reached to take my hand.

At that moment, a winter draft entered the room from the office. I don't know what got into me but it was so cold that it spurred me to act.

I had lit the fuse.

"Looks like you don't need help!" Flare exclaimed.

I couldn't quite believe what I'd done.

"C'mon. Let's go!" Flare pulled me along.

Still watching at the fuse, I let myself be pulled. Flare was laughing, and—with nothing else to feel—I soon mimicked her boundless rapture.

We burst into the plant's operations room and slammed the door. A mesh wire window overlooked the production floor. Crowding around it, we watched the spark creep forward.

It ignited, and everything was drowned in light.

However, I didn't have the opportunity to see much more. Flare had her arms around my neck. Like a predator, she pulled me onto the ground where her clothes lay, discarded. The burst of the rockets deafened all sound, but I still understood her every word.

Eyes on me!

She twisted on top, and her figure was thrust into the light. Everything was unbelievably red. I remember that the fireworks were multi-coloured but all I could see was red, from her hair to her eyes to the light.

Something special! Something we haven't tried!

It was increasingly hot inside that tiny room. This heat was only magnified the moment Flare pressed herself forward and relaxed her legs. Then up, then down; tension, relaxation: Flare bounced almost in tune with the ebb and flow of the pyrotechnic sequence.

And between each crescendo was the melody of everything else: of wandering fingers, of curious tongues, and of irrepressible voices. With every pulse, I felt the warmth of Flare's vulnerability, her intensity, and her tightening clench, all building up to...

Something exploded.

We exhaled and collapsed on the dusty floor that we were far too triumphant to care about.

"That was—" Flare massaged a sore bottom. "—actually crazy."

"... Yeah."

It was two simple comments, but we giggled as if it were the funniest joke we'd ever heard. The fireworks died down and we nuzzled up in the darkening operations room.

There was another explosion, then another one.

But no... it wasn't us.

The red glow had returned, and it was far more subdued yet menacing. I peered through the window and saw it. There must have been some leftovers combustibles because a silo had burst, wreathing the floor in grain fire.

"Oh shoot!" Flare had risen beside me. She was laughing in a nervous manner.

"Flare, we gotta go!"

"Yeah..." She coughed. "Maybe we should."

We fled from the room.

In the plant, a wave of hot air crashed into us, and we stumbled down the stairs to the floor. A foul industrial smoke filled the air, ravaging our throats and eyes.

We could barely navigate the walkways.

When we arrived at the office, my lungs were screaming for fresh air and sweat had permeated my brow. In our exhaustion, we staggered through the broken window, and only stopped fifty paces from the plant.

Behind us, the flame was visible through the various windows. It appeared as if it were contained—until a gout of red erupted through one of the vents. Another silo had burst, spreading its flames like winter spread its snows.

"O-o-rson."

I turned to Flare who was naked in the snow. In our haste, she must have left her clothes. She was balled up, arms between her legs, making hiccup-like sounds.

I draped my coat over her. "You alright?"

I remember taking a closer look and seeing something odd.

Flare seemed alright, more than aright, even. The hiccups were laughs—the nervous laugh of a maiden who had just discovered something very naughty and couldn't quite believe it herself.

"Flare?"

"I-I'm good."

"You sure? You're breathing funny."

"It's just—" Her teeth chattered. "—the excitement."

I thought I must have misheard. I simply nodded and helped her to the car. We drove off before the authorities could apprehend our trail.

When we were back on the 401, Flare spoke: "That's was really crazy."

"Yeah..."

Flare gushed. "The brightness of the fireworks! And when that silo burst!"

I nodded.

"I did not think it would burn that fast. You'd have thought it was an oil refinery instead of a cereal factory!"

"It exploded."

"And it was a big explosion."

There was a moment's silence; I scratched my head. "I'm just worried that we might get found out. I mean, wasn't that arson?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. They probably haven't even arrived yet." She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Think about something else."

The gesture filled me with mixed emotions.

Flare continued: "The only regret is that it interrupted our little special something."

I remember that with my head full of turbulence, with her still bare figure, I found it impossible to concentrate on the road.

In the morning, after a long night, we shared a brunch of omelettes and coffee.

The news playing in the background described a fire attack by some unknown delinquents. I couldn't keep my eyes off the screen although Flare seemed more preoccupied with the swirls in her coffee.

My thoughts were still rampant when I arrived for my first class of the year. Instead of reading, I sat stared dead ahead, almost as if I were paying attention to the lecture.

I only managed to forget it when I returned home and entered her embrace. Relief came when we painted, or when we just chatted, but especially when we took full advantage of our youth.

Then, like a switch had been flipped, I would head to campus and the thoughts would flood me. I could not part with that scene: the flame, the smoke, and the smile across Flare's face. And I was unsure if there hadn't been one across mine as well.

Like two sides of a flipping coin, my head flipped back and forth, so much that I became dizzy. The toss must have been very high because this went on through the second semester and into the summer.

This summer was miserable. Every day was dreary without Flare's company. It was boring, it was repetitive, and the whole thing was too damn long. Maybe I was sick or maybe I was desensitized, but I couldn't feel an ounce of excitement.

My only respite was at midsummer when Flare paid me a quick visit.