After School . .
The university gate stood open, spilling students onto the sidewalk in waves of laughter and chatter. Groups lingered at food stalls or clustered around benches, hungry for snacks and gossip.
"Do you think there's something going on between Fire and Ice?" Rika asked, keeping her tone casual but her eyes sharp.
"Fire said they're just friends," Lia replied, adjusting her bag strap.
"Right, she walked him once—so what?" Rika added. "Ice might just be a gentleman," she said, though the glint in her eye betrayed suspicion.
"But…" Rika paused mid-step, placing a thoughtful finger on her chin. "I've seen things." Her voice dropped like she was sharing classified information. "He's always helping her."
Lia's pace slowed. She looked sideways like a detective catching a scent.
"You saw it too?" she asked.
"He held the table when Fire dropped her bottle and crouched down," Rika whispered, like she'd found irrefutable evidence.
"He did the same thing with the overhead cabinet when she reached for ingredients!" Lia nodded.
"And he only gives her simple tasks," Rika added, almost triumphant.
"She didn't even touch a knife during the whole experiment," Lia said, then stopped. Her eyes met Rika's.
"…Do you think Ice likes Fire?" she asked like she was speaking forbidden words.
They both froze, then answered in unison:
"No way."
"We're reading into it," Lia said quickly.
"Definitely. Ice? The cold-hearted president? Not a chance," Rika scoffed—but her smile looked a little less certain.
EXT. GREENHOUSE — Ice's POV
"Why are you here?" Ice's eyes were closed, but his tone made it clear he already knew the answer.
"You called me," she said, her voice slightly defensive.
Ah. Right. He had.
FLASHBACK — CLASSROOM
Class had ended. Some students stuck around, others loitered in clumps, half-discussing projects, half-chasing rumors.
Ice packed up his things, about to leave, when a too-loud voice behind him caught his attention.
"Zafire, huh?"
"Yeah, she's hot," said a blond guy with his collar popped like it was still 2005.
"Bet she has a boyfriend," another said.
"Who cares?" a third chimed in. "Worth the risk. Girl like that? Total trophy girlfriend."
Ice paused, lips tightening.
"Think I'll go for it first," Blondie said.
"If you fail, I'm up next," his friend laughed.
"Same," the third echoed. "She walks in here like a damn goddess."
As if summoned, Fire stepped into the room. Her smile lit up the space—and drew every gaze.
She was headed toward him when the boys intercepted her.
"Hey, Zafire," Blondie said, leaning against her desk like he owned it.
She offered a polite smile. "Hello."
No. Ice clenched his jaw. You shouldn't smile at guys like him.
"Want me to walk you home? Lots of weird stuff happening lately," Blondie said, clearly fishing for points.
"That's sweet of you. Thank you—"
"And maybe grab dinner? I know a place." His grin was smooth, but his eyes scanned her like a prize.
She hesitated.
Then Ice stood.
His chair scraped back sharply as he moved between Fire and the trio, eyes cold.
"Let's go," he said, grabbing her hand. She already had her bag, as if she'd been waiting.
The boys said nothing. Ice didn't need to glare. His presence was warning enough.
PRESENT — GREENHOUSE
Fire POV
The greenhouse was quiet, wrapped in soft golden light. The scent of fresh petals floated on the breeze as sunlight filtered through the glass, casting ripples of warmth over the floor. Wind slipped through the open panels, playful and gentle, tugging at the strands of Fire's hair until they danced across her face.
She tucked them behind her ear, irritated—not by the wind, but by the silence beside her.
"You dragged me here," she muttered, her voice tinged with false annoyance. It was easier to sound annoyed than admit her heart was thudding for reasons she didn't fully understand.
Ice leaned against the tree with a sigh, like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Can't I enjoy five minutes of peace?"
Fire glanced down, fingers fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. The silence between them stretched. The petals above gave up their grip, drifting slowly down like snowflakes, too delicate to land hard.
Say something. Anything.
"Hey… aren't you happy?" she asked, forcing cheer into her tone. "We got the highest score on our project."
Nothing.
Her throat tightened.
"Are you… mad again?" she whispered. Her voice cracked near the end. "I—I was worried it might mess up our grade, and you'd be upset."
Still nothing.
The ache in her chest spread wider. She looked down at her lap, fists clenched tightly against the rising swell of guilt.
"I'm sorry if I dragged you down," she murmured. "I promise I'll do better. I'll catch up. I'll—"
Her breath hitched.
"I'm not going to take my dream lightly anymore. I'll take the advanced classes again. I won't hold you back."
The words spilled out faster now, like she was trying to outrun the feeling of failure she'd carried since the start of the semester. Her voice was trembling, her thoughts crashing over each other.
Don't cry. Not in front of him. Don't cry like a little girl again.
She forced herself to look at him, bracing for his usual indifference—eyes closed, face blank, maybe a tired sigh at her weakness.
But when she turned, she didn't find a wall.
She found a smile.
Soft. Faint. Barely there, but warm enough to shatter the cold in her chest.
And then his hand touched her head—light, careful, like he was afraid she'd break if he pressed too hard.
The sunlight caught the curve of his jaw, and for a second, he looked unreal—like something out of a story. He looks… so kind when he smiles.
And just like that, the walls she had built up, the ones that held everything in—crumbled.
Before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his chest. The tears came freely, unstoppable.
"I was really scared," she whispered, voice cracking with every word. "Scared you'd be mad at me. Scared I disappointed you. I'm really, really scared…"
He didn't speak.
She kept crying.
His shirt muffled her sobs, soaking in her fear, her shame, the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.
And even though he sighed—soft, almost amused—he didn't move.
Didn't push her away.
Didn't say it was annoying.
Instead, he stayed still, steady.
Her anchor in that fragile moment.
Next Chapter:
What starts as a fun class planning session takes a sharp turn when a girl with a hidden grudge storms in — and she's not here to talk. In a split second, Fire throws herself into danger to protect Ice. But he moves faster.
A weapon. A warning. A side of Ice no one's ever seen.
Whispers turn into fear. Loyalties shift.
And for Fire, one thing becomes clear: He's not just cold.