The campus street lights flickered on, casting a soft glow over the paths as night fell. The hustle of the day had died down, and most classes had ended. Students living in the dorms were beginning to venture out for food, either to the on-campus convenience store or waiting for their takeout deliveries, which were allowed until a certain hour.
"She responded!" Oriel beamed, her voice filled with excitement as she checked her phone, a wave of relief washing over her. She had been anxious all afternoon.
"I told you, she'd be fine," Dhylan reassured her, his tone steady as he balanced a plastic bag filled with snacks and meals from the store.
Oriel sighed, frustration clear on her face. "I really hate that guy's attitude. Acting like he's the king of the world."
Dhylan chuckled, though his expression softened in understanding. "Well, he is impressive when it comes to his skills," he admitted. But as Oriel shot him a sharp look, he caught her warning glare—'Shut up, you're supposed to be on my side.' His nervous laugh followed.
"My pretty Ori, don't make that face. It's terrifying!" he added with a teasing grin.
"You're supposed to be scared," Oriel shot back, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Now hurry up—I'm starving!" She pushed her face into a mock pout, which Dhylan mirrored, both of them knowing it was only a matter of time before they'd be sitting down to eat.
I know I'm biased, because I truly admire Fire. No, I idolize her, and yet… the way that guy treats her? No one deserves to be treated like that. Not a girl, not anyone, really. Oriel thought.
Ice's POV:
My hands were stuffed in my pockets as I walked back toward the kitchen. The night had settled in, and the campus was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting long shadows over the garden I had to pass through. As I neared the kitchen, a strange, sharp scent reached my nose. Smoke. My heart skipped. No, not here.
I rushed in, my pulse pounding in my ears. The kitchen was filled with thick, swirling smoke, but the fire hadn't spread far yet. There, in the middle of it all, was Fire, coughing, struggling against the fog. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and, with shaking hands, yanked the pin out. Pointing it at the flames, I unleashed a cold spray that quickly smothered the fire. But the smoke lingered, thick in the air, wrapping itself around everything.
Behind me, I could feel her—Fire—standing there, trembling, her body stiff with the weight of her actions. But I didn't have time to sympathize now.
This place is everything to me. The memories of my family, the foundation of my life. The thought of it all being reduced to ash because of carelessness—no. I couldn't bear it.
What if I hadn't been here in time? I had only minutes to stop the fire. Everyone knows that. If I had failed, I would have watched everything burn. I couldn't let that happen. Not here. Not to these memories.
Anger surged through me, mixing with frustration, each thought more suffocating than the last.
I didn't speak, but when she turned toward me, I saw it in her eyes—fear. She flinched at the intensity in my gaze. I could tell my face was a mask of dismay and something darker.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, voice barely above a whisper. But I couldn't let it go. Not this time.
"Do you think your sorry fixes everything?" I snapped, my voice too harsh, uncontrolled. "It's not always your way, Fire. Sure, it's minimal damage now, but what do you think would've happened if I hadn't been here? If I didn't put it out?"
Her eyes widened, and she shrank back, each word I said hitting her like a punch. She flinched every time my voice rose a little higher, like I was a storm that might break her.
Tears welled up in her eyes, her lips trembling. "I'm sorry!" she cried, the sound of her sobs echoing in the quiet of the kitchen. But it didn't matter. Not yet.
"Sorry?!" My voice broke, loud and bitter. "You think everything can be fixed with an apology? Can you please everyone with your sorry, Fire? How pathetic."
Her face crumpled at my words. She was sobbing now, the tears flowing uncontrollably.
"I didn't mean to!" she sobbed, her chest heaving with each breath.
"Wake up, Fire!" I barked. "It's not always going to go your way. Not because you say sorry, everything is fine. You can't just keep being a disaster, ruining everything around you, expecting people to clean up after you!"
I saw the shock on her face. The hurt. The disbelief. I was probably the first person to speak to her like that. Everyone else let her get away with it.
If she kept going like this—being so careless—she'd never learn. It was a flaw that would haunt her, and I couldn't stand to see it.
She stared at me, eyes wide and glassy with tears, but she didn't say a word. She just ran out the door.
And for a moment, I stood there. Alone. The anger was still there, but it was fading, replaced by something else. A gnawing guilt.
Why did I feel like this? It's her fault.
Before I could process my thoughts, my mom appeared. She must have heard the commotion. I could already see the concern on her face.
"What happened to her?" she asked, voice laced with worry.
I tried to explain, but my voice was tight, the weight of the situation pressing on me.
"But, Mom, it's her fault," I insisted, though deep down, I wasn't entirely sure.
Mom sighed, looking at me with a steady, calm expression. "I know, dear. But... for someone as innocent as her, you went too far. You made her cry like that. It's too much."
"No!" I shook my head, frustrated. "It's her fault. So what if she's innocent? She keeps doing this. She's clumsy. She's a walking disaster!"
Mom placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "People are different, Keice. She's still learning, and maybe, one day, she'll understand. But for now, you need to try and understand her. Help her grow, instead of pushing her down."
I bit my lip, trying to fight the rising frustration. She was right, in some ways. But it didn't make it easier to bear.
"She almost burned the kitchen down, Mom!" I complained, voice low. "This place is important to me. So many memories here."
She smiled softly. "Your memories aren't in the kitchen, Keice. They're in you. And I'm glad you're safe. That's what matters."
It was hard to argue with her. She always had the right words.
"And what if someone had yelled at your sister like you yelled at Fire?" Mom continued, catching me off guard.
"What?!" I sputtered. "It's not the same, Mom! I love my sister. I'd never yell at her!"
"But your sister is just like Fire. Innocent, clumsy, and careless, in her own way," Mom said, her gaze steady.
I froze. She got me.
"Okay," I muttered, defeated. "I'll apologize. Happy now?"
Mom smiled. "You'll feel better when you do."
I ran across the highway, passing by shops and streets, desperately searching for her. Where the hell did she go? My eyes scanned every corner, but I couldn't even catch a glimpse of her shadow. It was late, and the only sound was the distant hum of the city. Then it hit me—she wasn't even wearing shoes. Where the hell would she go barefoot at this hour?
I started walking toward the nearby playground, a place with barely any light left, now quiet and still, unlike its daytime vibrancy. No kids running around, just darkness and the occasional flicker of a streetlight.
Still no sign of her. Irritation rose in me. Why was I the one doing this? She screwed up, and now I'm chasing her down like an idiot. I thought about going back, telling Mom I couldn't find her. But before I could turn around, I heard it. A faint sob, barely audible, coming from one of the tunnels in the playground.
I stopped, hesitating. I wasn't going to chase her again. I was tired, frustrated. But damn it, something in me pulled me forward. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else.
When I saw her, sitting there in the dim light, my heart twisted. She was curled up, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as if she were trying to shield herself from the world. Her head was bowed, tears silently falling down her face. She looked so small, fragile. A stark contrast to the confident, carefree girl I always knew.
Was I too harsh? Why was this guilt eating me alive?
"Why am I like this?" Her voice cracked, barely audible, like she was trying to hide her pain even from herself. "Am I always the problem? I didn't even know... Maybe I was." Her words fell into silence, interrupted only by her shaky breaths.
Seeing her like that hurt more than I wanted to admit. I looked away, trying to ignore the growing pit in my chest. But no matter how much I tried to block it out, I couldn't escape the gnawing feeling that I was somehow responsible. Maybe I just wanted her to understand that the world wasn't always kind, that people wouldn't always forgive her clumsiness.
I moved closer, lowering myself to her level. The tunnel was cramped, but I didn't care.
"Hey." My voice was a whisper, almost too soft for her to hear. I didn't want to startle her.
She didn't seem to notice me at first, her sobs muffled by her own pain. She muttered something that made my stomach drop. "Mama, I miss you. Please get me out of here."
She wasn't aware that I was there. Not yet. I hesitated, then reached out, wrapping my arms around her without thinking.
I hated myself for it. But I couldn't stop. I wanted to pull away, tell her to figure it out on her own, but seeing her so broken, so vulnerable—it was too much. I ran my fingers through her hair, my chest tight with emotions I couldn't make sense of.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, barely recognizing the words as they left my mouth. I missed my little sister too. I used to do this for her when she cried, trying to make it all go away. But this... this was different.
After a few minutes, Fire's sobs quieted down. She looked up at me, eyes still brimming with tears, blinking as though she couldn't believe I was there.
I was still holding her. And that only made me more irritated. What the hell was I doing?
She stared at me like I was some kind of strange figure. I tried to push away the awkwardness creeping up my spine. "I'm sorry," I muttered, the words slipping out without thought.
Her eyes widened, and she blinked again, looking confused.
"What did I just do?" My head was spinning. Was this really me? It felt like someone else was controlling my actions, and I hated it.
I saw a faint blush on her cheeks, and my stomach twisted.
"It's not your fault," she whispered, voice shaky, "I'm just really useless. I should die, right?"
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
No. I hadn't said anything like that, and I wouldn't let her think it. I pulled her closer instinctively, my anger turning into something else, something protective. I couldn't let her think that way.
"No," I said firmly, my hand gently patting her head as I held her. "Don't say that."
I couldn't believe it. Why was I acting like this? I didn't want to protect anyone, least of all her. But here I was, telling her not to give up on herself. Damn it.
"But I'm making everyone's life difficult," she said, looking up at me with those tear-filled eyes, silently pleading for me to agree with her.
"No," I said quickly, wiping away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. "No, it's me. I'm the one who's wrong. Please... stop saying that."
The guilt was overwhelming. I wanted to push her away, tell her to stop being so... so much of a burden. But I couldn't. Not like this.
Don't let this be romantic. Don't imagine it like those stupid dramas you watch, Ice. This is not the time. This is not the moment to act like a hero.
"But—" She tried to speak again, but I cut her off.
This was where I drew the line. I wouldn't let this turn into something ridiculous. No. No kissing. No dramatic confession.
"Let's go," I said, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "I'm treating you to ice cream."
Her eyes lit up, like a child's joy suddenly returned to her face. "Ice cream? Let's go!"
I sighed, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. For the first time that night, the tightness in my chest began to ease. I might've messed up earlier, but this... this, I could handle.
I stood up, leaving her sitting at the end of the tunnel. "Can you stand?" I asked, extending my hand to help her up. Reflexively, she nodded and reached for me. Her fingers, though, trembled as they brushed against mine, revealing the redness running across her skin. I glanced at her other hand, hidden in the shadows, and the darkened area almost seemed to fade into the night. But there, just barely visible, I could make out the faint outline of a burn on her palm.
I knelt down to her level again, concerned. "What happened?" I asked softly, offering my hand as if to reassure her.
She hesitated, her gaze averted, before slowly placing her hand in mine. Her voice trembled as she began explaining, her words wrapped in guilt and fear. "When I got back from the call... I saw the oven burning. I panicked. I knew how important that place was to you, and I was worried about everyone's safety. There wasn't time to think. I just opened the oven, hoping to spray it with the fire extinguisher... but my hand... it hurt so much from the burn that I couldn't even hold onto anything." She trailed off, her voice barely a whisper, as if the weight of her words was too much to bear.
I gently examined her hands. Both were badly burned, the imprint of the oven handle still visible in the reddened skin. They weren't severe enough to need surgery, but the pain was evident. I could only imagine how much they must've hurt.
"Let's get you to the hospital," I suggested, but the moment the words left my mouth, she pulled her hands away from mine, as if I had betrayed her.
"No, please," she pleaded, her eyes wide with panic and tears. "No hospital."
I hesitated, but there was no mistaking the raw emotion in her eyes. I was starting to think she might be playing on my sympathy, but the fear in her expression made me doubt that. Defeated, I let out a heavy sigh. I wasn't going to win this battle.
In the end, I convinced her to at least let me give her first aid. "How about a parfait from the pastry shop? I'll take care of your hands there," I offered gently. She agreed with a small nod, though the lingering tension in the air hadn't quite lifted.
Next Chapter: After a clash on the playground leaves Fire burned in more ways than one, Ice offers a quiet gesture of kindness—parfait and first aid. But beneath the sugary layers and light-hearted banter, a deeper wound is uncovered. When a simple question unearths memories Fire has buried for years, Ice finds himself face-to-face with a version of her he never imagined: not the reckless girl he thought he knew, but a daughter shaped by love, loss, and the quiet pain of growing up too fast. In the warmth of a closed café, the ice between them begins to melt—and a long-held sorrow is finally allowed to cry.