LATER – ORIEL'S DORM ROOM
"Click it! Open it now!" Oriel urged, practically bouncing in her seat.
"Wait, give me a second," Dhylan replied, moving the mouse slowly over the email.
They were huddled together in front of her desk, shoulders brushing. The dorms allowed male visitors—with written parental approval.
"I think this is a mistake," Dhylan muttered.
"Check again. Maybe they sent it to the wrong group?"
He refreshed the inbox, double-checked the sender.
Nope. It was legit.
He clicked the attachment again.
Congratulations! Your concept has been selected as best.
Instructions:
Create your own wedding cake. You have full control of the theme.
Include original photo references: the venue, decorations, or wedding photos, etc.
No stock images.
Oriel read the message out loud—then silently to herself. Once. Twice. Then a dozen more times.
"This can't be real," she whispered.
"We had an incomplete grade before, remember?" Dhylan said, eyes still locked on the screen. "This is it. Our makeup project."
"But... renting a venue? Decorations? That's expensive!" she groaned, leaning back in her chair.
"Then we should just get married," Dhylan said.
His voice was calm. Too calm. No sarcasm. No grin.
It hit Oriel like a slap of cold water.
She blinked.
Hard.
Her brain short-circuited. She stared at him, stunned, like he'd just spoken another language entirely.
Then—finally—he grinned.
"How many kids do you want, my Ori?"
A pillow smacked him square in the face.
The tension broke in an instant.
Dhylan laughed, leaning back in his chair as Oriel huffed dramatically.
For a second—just a second—he thought she'd actually taken him seriously.
But of course not.
No way she would.
Still, he smiled to himself, just a little bitter at how easy it was to hope.
ICE'S APARTMENT – 11:00 PM
A soft beep broke the silence.
The digital clock beside the bed flickered: 10:59 → 11:00.
The room was dark. He hadn't bothered turning on the lights.
She probably went home by now, he thought, blinking up at the shadowy ceiling.
His body was heavy—cold yet sweating, every limb aching. His skin prickled like it couldn't decide if it was freezing or burning.
He sat up slowly, each movement dragging like rusted gears grinding into place.
Then—light.
Sharp. Sudden.
He winced, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.
"What—"
"Oh! You're awake!" Fire's voice floated in, light and relieved.
She stepped into the room holding a tray—there was a bowl of something steaming and a glass of water. Her hair was a little messy.
He opened his mouth, but a sudden spike of pain pulsed through his head. He groaned, hand flying to his temple.
The tray clinked softly as she set it down on the bedside table. Then the bed dipped slightly beside him as she sat.
"You okay?" Her voice was gentler now, closer. She leaned in, eyes searching his pale face.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, eyes dropping to the blanket bunched in his lap. He couldn't meet her gaze. Why is she still here?
As if hearing his thoughts she answered. "I fell asleep on the couch," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "When I woke up and checked on you, you looked like a ghost- like pale!"
She picked up the bowl. The steam curled softly between them.
"You need to take something. Or go to the hospital," she said.
"I said I'm fine."
he muttered again—but the stubbornness barely made it out before another wave of nausea hit him. He grimaced.
"See?" she huffed, sounding way too proud for someone who had just been proven right.
He shot her a weak glare. She smiled anyway.
"You should go," he said after a long silence, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Didn't you say you have work tomorrow?"
"I already canceled."
His head turned faster than expected. "What?!"
She shrugged, casual—but a little sheepish. "It's not urgent. I'm tired too."
"…But that's why you were rushing the wedding cake proposal," he said, returning his gaze to the ceiling like it might make more sense than she did.
"It's fine. Just rest, okay?"
"I told you. I just need sleep. You didn't have to do all this."
"No way. You were shaking when I found you," she said firmly, folding her arms. "You looked like you were about to die."
He stayed quiet.
The ache in his limbs eased—just a little. Her presence, loud and chaotic as ever, somehow made the silence bearable.
"You know," he said finally, voice low, "it's not right to stay at a guy's place. Or... try to undress one."
His tone was unreadable. Teasing? Serious? She could never tell.
"Yes, yes, I know!" she said quickly, raising her right hand like she was making a vow in court. "I promise I won't do that with anyone else. Only Ice."
He blinked. The medicine might've helped, but that line knocked the breath right out of him all over again.
This wasn't just a fever. This was something else entirely.
"No," he muttered. "Not even with me. That's not safe."
"But Ice is like a big brother!" she said with wide eyes. "I always wanted one."
He sighed—a long, deep, tired sigh.
Just like my sister. They never listen.
"This—" he started, wanting to say something real, something that made sense—
—but the thought slipped away in the fog.
"…Whatever."