INT- HALLWAY 11:30 AM
Fire's eyes locked onto his back—sharp, steady, and slipping further away.
Fire chased it like a hunting eagle—focused, fast, unstoppable.
But the hallway was chaotic.
A river of students surged around her, loud and oblivious, like a world that didn't care she was in the middle of something vital. Dodging swinging vendors and side-stepping sudden turns, Fire wove through the crowd like she was playing a high-stakes version of tag from childhood.
Someone dropped a tumbler; the sound exploded across the floor. She didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Every second felt like a race against gravity itself.
Students were obstacles. They turned suddenly, stepped out without looking, clumped together in lazy clusters—like the universe conspired to slow her down. Fire ducked under an elbow, spun past a shoulder, and twisted sideways between two people locked in conversation. She felt the brush of fabric, the sting of hair whipping across her cheek.
Her breath tore through her throat, heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears. She ran as fast as she could, but the world felt like it had slowed down around her. Her muscles screamed for air, but the world dragged at her, slowing her down—like the hallway stretched longer with every step.
Nothing else existed—just his back, just that movement ahead of her, just the need to catch up before it was too late.
For a moment, she could almost reach out and touch him—
Then he turned a corner.
Then—he vanished.
She skidded to a halt, her shoes screeching against the floor. Heart pounding in her throat, eyes scanning the flood of students. Where—?
There! she gasped, spotting the familiar shape just as it slipped into the stairwell. No time to think—she bolted again.
He was rounding the corner, slipping into the stairwell.
Her muscles screamed, but she launched forward again, faster than before, slicing between students who barely had time to react.
"Sorry!" she yelled, crashing into a girl stepping out of a classroom. No time to stop. No time to explain. Her shoulder stung from the impact, but she didn't even wince. The crowd parted just enough to let her through, like a crack splitting open in a stormcloud.
Got you. He was right there—heading down the stairs, just ahead.
But then—
But as she stepped onto the first slope, her wedge heel caught the edge of the landing. Instead of touching the step, her foot twisted awkwardly. The world froze.
There was no time to react. Her balance vanished. The world truly did slow down now.
Air rushed past her ears. The floor disappeared. Her arms flailed—but her body refused to move fast enough. She didn't scream—just shut her eyes. A reflex. She always did that when fear took over.
She always did that when she was scared.
Gasps rippled through the hallway.
She wasn't falling.
She was…hanging?
She opened her eyes.
Directly in front of her: wide eyes. Students frozen, mouths agape. Shock written across every face like a mirror of what she felt inside. Just past them—her foot still dangled off the first step.
And then she noticed the shoulder. Just inches away. Solid. Close.
She couldn't even see the person's face. They were too near—so close, they were practically holding her up.
Then it sank in.
She hadn't fallen.
Someone had caught her.
A wave of cold fear rolled up her spine, and her chest tightened until it hurt. I almost... Her thoughts spiraled. I almost fell.
A hundred outcomes flashed through her mind—none of them ended with her still standing.
Before the fear could take full control, a voice cut through the haze—sharp, familiar, unrelenting.
From just beside her ear.
"I told you not to run in the hallway!"
The voice snapped with anger, but she didn't flinch.
Because behind the words… she heard it.
Not just frustration. Not just irritation.
Worry.
Ice.
Finally, the full picture snapped into focus—everything her shock had blocked out. He'd seen her stumble. Grabbed her just in time. Pulled her back with a force that left her shaken but upright.
Her shoes still hovered at the stair's edge. One misstep from disaster.
But his arm kept her grounded.
"You stupid walking disaster," he muttered under his breath.
Slowly, Fire tilted her face up. Her chest was still heaving, adrenaline still crashing through her veins. She looked into his eyes—close, unavoidable.
And they told her the truth.
He was angry.
But more than that—he was scared.
His voice was firm, but his eyes… they couldn't hide it. He cared.
She tried, desperately, to remember all those little reminders she'd left herself. Notes in her head: Avoid him. Stay away. Don't get pulled back in. But the chants seems to fail her now.
"Do that again," Ice said, his voice low and rough, "and I'll make sure you get kicked out." he growled.
To anyone else, it sounded like a threat.
But she heard it.
He was scared.
The paper-thin wall she'd built inside her—those mental post-it notes and quiet promises—crumbled under the weight of his voice.
Tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them.
Without warning, She threw herself forward, arms wrapping around him in a messy, desperate hug. Her momentum nearly knocked him back a step.
"Ice!" she sobbed. "You're so mean!"
Tears streamed down her face. But inside, something else fought for control. Shame and regret
Ice stood frozen.
"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I didn't mean to leave you!" Her voice cracked, and heads turned at the commotion.
She clung tighter.
His face turned bright red. "What the hell are you saying?!" he snapped, eyes darting around the crowd.
But she couldn't stop. The words poured out in a jumble: "I'm sorry," "I hate you," "Don't be mean,"
"Stop—Fire, seriously—" he hissed. She didn't.
"Please shut up" he muttered under his breath, flustered beyond words. "Why did I even save you…"
And he sighed, already knowing the answer.
INT. MAID CAFE CLASSROOM – 12:00 PM
A long, exhausted sigh escaped Ice's lips.
It was the tenth one. Maybe the eleventh. He'd lost count somewhere between catching her mid-fall and being emotionally blackmailed into buying her dessert.
Across the table, Fire was cheerfully digging into a tall, sparkling parfait—eyes sparkling like nothing traumatic had happened just minutes ago.
The entire maid café-themed classroom was still staring.
Of course they were. She'd cried. She'd yelled. She'd hugged him in front of everyone. And now she was happily spooning whipped cream into her mouth like she hadn't nearly tumbled down the stairs.
After the emotional meltdown, she'd immediately grabbed his arm and sniffled, "You owe me a parfait now!"
"Why?"
"Because it's your fault I didn't get to enjoy my parfait earlier!" she had wailed.
How is that my fault? he'd thought. But there was no point arguing with chaos.
So, to make her stop crying—and maybe to silence the audience—they ended up here.
"You're just making excuses to avoid a violation notice," Ice muttered, arms crossed.
"No! I told you—I was chasing a guy because he dropped his wallet!" she insisted, waving her spoon for emphasis, nearly flinging cream onto a passing maid.
"Then why didn't you take it to the lost and found?"
Her expression froze, spoon mid-air. A long pause.
"…Oh," she said, like a computer hitting a blue screen. "I forgot about that."
He sighed again. A deep, soul-weary exhale.
She clasped her hands together in front of her, eyes wide with fake innocence. "Nooo, please don't write me up! I promise I won't do it again!"
He glared.
Then, as if summoned by her chaotic magic, the waiter placed another parfait on the table.
And just like that—instant happiness.
Her face lit up as if angels were singing. "Yessss," she whispered, eyes practically glowing. "It's beautiful."
Why am I here again? Ice thought, staring blankly.
"You suuure you don't want some?" she offered sweetly, nudging the spoon toward his face.
He recoiled slightly. "No." Flat. Final.
She just giggled and went back to devouring it with the enthusiasm of a child given candy for breakfast.
The staring continued. All eyes were still on them.
Ice turned, shooting a single cold glare across the room.
That was all it took. Every head snapped back to their own parfaits and conversations. Silence returned.
This girl doesn't know how to stop, he thought, watching her in mild disbelief as she hummed happily between bites.
"Don't worry," she whispered like she was telling him a secret. "Your parfait in Sweet Dreams Café is still better."
He gave her a dry, sarcastic smile.
She missed it completely.
Why am I babysitting again? he wondered, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time.
Next Chapter:
Oriel catches wind of the rumors and makes a choice: follow, or let go? But it's hard to be dramatic when your partner in concern is dressed as a duck.
Meanwhile, Fire's day is filled with laughter, food, and a shadow that never quite leaves her side—Ice. He says nothing. Yet, he stays. And in the silence between them, something shifts.