That day, after the mess at the ice-cream parlor, Ice drove her home.
Amenable? No. Fire was very clearly pissed.
Ice didn't care. He knew how her mind worked—out with a guy at that hour? It was too dangerous for her own innocence.
The car ride was silent. Too silent.
Ice's fingers tightened around the leather wheel as he drove. She sat beside him—not sulking, not complaining—just staring out the window with reddened eyes and shadows under them. Her posture looked relaxed, but he knew better. Something was off.
"Are you mad?" he asked, biting down on his tongue before something slipped out.
Eyes fixed on the road, guilt flickered in his chest. He wanted to look at her, but didn't trust himself to.
He sighed quietly on his own.
When they arrived, Fire stepped out without a word.
That night became the last time they spoke properly.
The following days—full of school-trip preparation—only widened the distance.
INT – SUPREME STUDENT COUNCIL OFFICE
"What do you mean it's cancelled? The trip is tomorrow."
Ice's voice was low, his glare sharp enough to freeze the air.
The vice president adjusted her high ponytail and dark-rimmed glasses. "The committee just informed me—"
Ice's aura dropped, silencing the room.
"Did you contact another hotel?" he asked, voice cold and precise.
"N-not yet, Pres—" the secretary stammered.
"Why not?" His words cut cleanly.
His eyes scanned the room—silent, unreadable, but slicing through every excuse they were about to form.
"Call. Now."
He pulled another folder toward him. "Make sure all documents and receipts are ready for tomorrow."
"Yes, President!"
Everyone flinched.
"And the contact numbers. Emergency list, too. Move."
Chairs scraped; papers rattled. No one wanted to breathe the same air as him a second longer.
Ice leaned forward, supporting his head with his hand, scanning the scattered documents on his desk.
"How are these people third years?" he hissed.
Then—his gaze caught on something.
A paper bag in the corner.
Four days.
Four days Fire hadn't shown up at the greenhouse for lunch.
Four days avoiding him completely.
FLASHBACK – CLASSROOM
Ice hadn't been able to attend class for two days, but today he made sure he would.
After class ended, he turned to the last row. Fire was staring at him.
For a second, relief hit him—maybe he had been overthinking.
He packed his things quickly, ready to walk over.
But when he glanced back, she was gone.
CORRIDOR – 7 AM
He heard running footsteps. That bounce, that rhythm—Fire.
He waited. Counted. Then stepped forward.
"No running in the hallway. I told you."
His voice came out sharper than intended.
She froze. Eyes widening.
She bowed quickly, then dashed into the room without a single word.
The distance between their seats suffocated him.
Three days. Irritation simmered under his skin, fighting the last scraps of patience he hadn't already burned through. He turned to the last row again, determined to finally confront her.
When he saw her fidgeting in her chair—bag, pen, anything—Ice stood up.
He walked toward her, each step deliberate.
Her face was pale, panicked. She looked everywhere except at him, like she wished she could disappear.
He was a meter away, ready to speak—
"President Ice!"
A student appeared at the door.
"We need you in the office!"
Ice looked over his shoulder, nodded, then glanced back at Fire.
She was staring straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.
Like he wasn't even there.
END FLASHBACK
"What's her problem?" he muttered.
Or maybe—what was his?
He'd been bringing her lunch every day like an idiot.
Both hands covered his face.
"What am I doing?"
A cold gust swept in from the window, as if mocking him.
He ran a hand through his hair and dropped his head onto the table.
Then—the door swung open.
Ice lifted his head sharply.
And there she was—the reason for every single one of his frustrations—standing in the doorway, holding a stack of papers, eyes wide in shock.
Next Chapter:
Ice has absolutely no right to look this good. None. Zero. I've been avoiding him for days—strategically, masterfully, award-winning avoidance—and yet every single day he somehow becomes even more impossible to face.
And now?
Now my so-called best friend Oriel has betrayed me. She shoved a stack of documents into my hands and practically kicked me toward the Supreme Council office like I was a sacrifice to some cold deity.
So here I am.
I open the door…
And Ice's head snaps up.
For a heartbeat, he just stares—eyes wide, expression unguarded, like I caught him in the middle of thinking something he would never admit out loud. Confusion, surprise… and something dangerously soft.
But the worst part?
The sunlight.
That stupid, perfect sunlight pouring from the window, bouncing off his stupid perfect skin, making him look—
Angelic.
Apologetic.
Vulnerable.
What kind of lighting conspiracy is this?
He looks at me like… like he has puppy eyes. Ice. Puppy eyes. That sentence shouldn't even exist.