Plot twist: it didn't.
I failed the exam.
I hate it.
And now someone's knocking at my door.
I'm not in the mood to smile.
INT. CLASSROOM – 5:00 PM
Ice had just finished the last meeting of the day. As he approached the classroom, he noticed something odd—students were still inside. Usually, they'd be racing out the second the bell rang.
He quietly pushed the door open. Inside, the room buzzed with nervous chatter. Papers flapped in the air, students compared answers, and some were even crying.
The final exam results had already been handed out.
Ice walked to his seat just as Rika rushed over, holding a paper like it was a love letter.
"You perfected it!" she beamed, eyes shining with admiration.
Ice didn't even look at her. He took the paper wordlessly and slid it into his bag.
Rika backed off, blushing—just another typical reaction to his indifference.
Minutes passed. Students trickled out one by one.
Ice stayed seated.
He didn't know what he was waiting for.
But then it hit him—she hadn't said a word.
Fire, who usually had five unnecessary things to say before the bell even rang, was silent.
He glanced beside him.
No sound. No movement. No Fire.
Gone.
He shook the thought off and stood to leave, but a strong wind burst through the open window beside him. It swept up a stack of papers from under Fire's desk.
He bent down to gather them.
Final exam papers.
Why would she leave them?
Maybe she forgot. Clumsy as always.
But just as he was about to tuck the papers back beneath the desk, something caught his eye—red ink.
A failing grade.
His lips pressed into a thin line.
He exhaled—part frustration, part something heavier.
He didn't want to admit it, but somewhere deep down, he'd actually believed she'd pass.
Silently, he returned the papers to her desk and walked out.
"It's better this way," he told himself. "She'll stop bothering me. Next semester, I won't have to deal with her again."
Somehow, those words sounded more like chants he was using against himself.
INT. CLASSROOM – NEXT DAY – 8:00 AM
"Oriel," Professor Murasaki called. "Any idea why Ms. Ashfault is absent?"
"I've been trying to contact her, Miss," Oriel replied, concern in her voice.
Ice sat quietly at his desk, eyes drawn again to the exam paper peeking from under Fire's desk.
I told her not to skip class. Especially now.
The same gnawing feeling returned.
It irritated him—this tight pull in his chest.
But he wasn't about to name it 'worry.'
The day dragged on.
The usual annoyances were gone—no sarcastic side comments.
No clumsy interruptions.
No arguments, no Fire beside him.
His mood was worse than usual. Not that he'd admit it.
When Professor Murasaki announced a chance for remedial classes and a make-up exam, someone from the back cheered.
"Yes!" Dhylan blurted out—only to be jabbed by Oriel.
"Stop being proud of that," she hissed.
"What? As long as I pass, I don't care," he giggled, shameless.
Normally, Ice would've been annoyed.
Second chances were for people who didn't get it right the first time.
But today, the only thing that pissed him off—
Was that Fire wasn't there to hear it.
She's probably crying somewhere over a failing grade.
If she breaks this easily, how does she expect to survive the real world?
What was she even thinking?
After lunch, most professors announced early dismissal—hell week was over. But the classroom remained unusually loud with post-exam gossip.
Ice packed up his things, uninterested in any of it.
He was just about to leave when—
"No! This can't beee—!"
A familiar voice cried out.
Fire's loud friend. Oriel.
He ignored the instinct to turn—until he heard:
"Blaze and Fyre broke up!"
He froze.
For a moment, he thought he misheard.
They were behind him, voices half-buried in chatter.
"Broke up?" Dhylan echoed. "I thought they were perfect?"
"They were!" Oriel said, half-wailing. "I don't know what happened!"
Ice had the same thought. Same disbelief.
"Maybe that's why Fyre's not here," Dhylan guessed.
"I don't know. But the news says they broke up."
"Try calling her again," Dhylan urged.
"Should we visit her?"
"I don't have her address," Oriel mumbled.
Ice did.
He just didn't want anyone to know that.
The rest of the conversation faded. He tuned it out.
His footsteps echoed louder than they should have.
Or maybe he was just used to hearing heels clicking beside him.
Next thing he knew, he was in his car, fingers clenched tightly around the wheel.
She skipped class... because of a breakup?
His jaw tensed.
His grip tightened.
Why am I this angry?
His thoughts spiraled.
She's probably crying somewhere—alone—over some guy.
Mr. Perfect Ace.
His mind flashed back to yet another one of Ace's ridiculous surprise posts—the kind that kept flooding his feed ever since he'd searched the guy's profile once.
Party setups, heartfelt captions, public declarations. It was a never-ending highlight reel.
He never blocked it. Blocking it would mean he cared. And he didn't. Obviously.
Fire was always on the phone with Ace.
"Ice was being Ice again."
She always said it like he wasn't even there.
He was surprised their relationship had seemed so stable.
That Ace never told her to stop talking to him.
That she never stopped watching Ace's movies with those starry eyes.
Ice glanced at the empty seat beside him.
The silence felt heavier than all her noise ever did.
Before his thoughts turned into something foolish, he shut them down with the turn of a key.