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 even does it with the overhead cabinet—every time he reaches for ingredients, he checks if it might hit Fire!" 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.
"And the library!" they said in unison, like they'd just cracked the code to a million-dollar gold chest. In their minds, the image of Ice sleeping on Fire's shoulder played like a scene from a drama.
They looked at each other, waiting for the perfect moment to make their declaration. Then—
"…Do you think Ice likes Fire?" Lia asked like she was speaking forbidden words.
They both froze, then answered in harmony: "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 lingered, half-heartedly discussing projects while others loitered in clumps, more interested in gossip than group work. Ice was packing up, ready to leave, when an obnoxiously loud voice cut through the noise behind him.
"Zafire, huh?"
"Yeah, she's hot," said a blond guy, his collar popped like it was still 2005.
"Bet she has a boyfriend," another chimed in.
"Who cares?" the third scoffed.
"Worth the risk. Girl like that? Total trophy girlfriend."
Ice froze for half a second, his lips tightening.
"Think I'll go for it first," Blondie declared.
"If you fail, I'm up next," his friend added with a laugh.
"Same," the third echoed. "She walks in here like a damn goddess."
As if on cue, Fire stepped into the classroom, her usual bright smile lighting up the room—and turning every head.
She was clearly headed toward Ice when the trio intercepted her.
"Hey, Zafire," Blondie greeted, leaning on her desk with all the smugness he could muster.
She gave a polite smile. "Hello."
Ice's jaw clenched. She shouldn't smile at guys like that.
"Want me to walk you home? Weird stuff's been going on lately," Blondie said, laying it on thick.
"That's sweet of you. Thank you—"
"And maybe grab dinner? I know a place." His voice was casual, but his gaze swept over her like she was something to win.
She hesitated.
That was enough.
Ice stood abruptly. His chair scraped sharply against the floor as he stepped between Fire and the trio, his expression unreadable but cold.
"Let's go," he said, taking her hand. She already had her bag in hand, as if she'd been waiting for him.
The boys fell silent.
He didn't have to glare. His presence alone was warning enough.
PRESENT — GREENHOUSE
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 across the floor. Wind slipped through the open panels, playful and gentle, tugging at my hair until it danced across my face.
I tucked the strands behind my ear, a little irritated—not at the wind, but at the silence beside me.
"You dragged me here," I muttered, trying to sound annoyed. It was easier to pretend irritation than admit my heart was thudding for reasons I 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?"
I glanced down, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. The silence stretched between us. Above us, petals loosened from the branches and drifted slowly down, like snowflakes too delicate to land hard.
Say something. Anything. Is he still mad?
"Hey… aren't you happy?" I forced cheer into my voice. "We got the highest score on our project."
Nothing.
My throat tightened.
"Are you… mad again?" I whispered. My voice cracked at the end. "I—I was worried it might mess up our grade, and you'd be upset."
Still no response.
The ache in my chest widened. I stared down at my lap, hands clenched tightly to keep them from shaking.
"I'm sorry if I dragged you down," I murmured.
I could feel it—Ice only gave me the easiest tasks. Barely anything. All the delicate and moderately difficult parts went to Lia and Rika.
I swallowed hard.
"I'm not going to take my dream lightly anymore. I'll take the advanced classes again. I won't hold you back."
Is it because he didn't want me to mess things up?
It was a huge part of our grade—of course it mattered.
Did he think I was incapable? Maybe. I could believe that. Maybe I've already proven it.
"I promise I'll do better. I'll catch up. I'll—"
My breath hitched.
The words started tumbling out, faster and faster, like I was trying to outrun the failure I'd been carrying since the semester started. My voice trembled. My thoughts crashed into each other, wild and panicked.
Don't cry. Not in front of him. Don't cry like a little girl again.
I forced myself to look at him, bracing for the usual indifference—eyes closed, face blank, maybe a sigh that said, "You're being dramatic."
But when I turned, I didn't find a wall.
I found a smile.
Soft. Faint. Barely there—but warm enough to crack something cold in my chest.
I was too stunned by the moment—even my tears forgot how to fall.
Then his hand reached out and touched my head—light, careful, like I might break if he pressed too hard.
And even without a single word, it felt like he was saying, "You did well." The sunlight hit the curve of his jaw, and just for a second, he didn't look like the usual Ice. He looked like something out of a story. So kind. So calm. So… safe.
And just like that, the walls I'd built to hold everything in—crumbled.
Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his chest. The tears came then. Freely. Unstoppably.
"I was really scared," I whispered, each word shuddering out of me. "Scared you'd be mad at me. Scared I disappointed you. I'm really, really scared…"
He didn't say anything.
I kept crying.
His shirt muffled the sounds—my fear, my guilt, all the things I tried to bury beneath a smile.
And even though he sighed—soft, almost like a tired kind of amusement—he didn't move.
He didn't pull away.
He didn't say it was annoying.
He just stayed. Quiet. Steady.
My anchor in a moment I hadn't even realized I was drowning in.
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.
He's the storm that shields.