Prologue
The boy, one of two, lit the fire with his bare hands. The other boy, who was sitting across from him, jumped in surprise. When he realized he was no longer in danger, the look of shock on his face was replaced with a smirk.
"I will never get used to that," he said, the embers from the flame dancing in his deep blue eyes. The charcoal haired boy who had just lit the fire returned no response, sitting in silence. He watched the other boy carefully, watched every drop of water that clung to his clothes and hair. He must be cold, a feeling that the flame starter had never experienced. No matter what, there would always be fire in his veins, coursing through him and singing with every move. At first, it had been painful and extremely uncomfortable, but as he accepted that there was no getting rid of it, the effect had worn off.
Although they both knew there was many years of conversation between them, many questions to be asked since the last time they had seen each other, the both of them didn't utter a word while the fire burned brighter and brighter, until the flame starter saw the flame to be too high, too noticeable. He extinguished the fire, lest they detect their location. And, though the other boy was still cold, they continued moving. The both of them thought that it would be this way until the day they died, silence, resting, and hiding.
Until they crashed into the two girls who would make their lives terrible.