The tower of sweets sat like a crown jewel in the center of the wooden tray, silverware neatly arranged at its side. The shop had already closed for the day, but Ice had convinced his mom to let him stay behind—to treat Fire's burn.
Footsteps echoed softly in her direction. She turned, eyes immediately locking onto the promised treat.
"Wow!" she gasped, clasping her hands together—only to wince as pain surged through her palms. A quiet groan slipped out.
Ice set the tray gently on the table in front of her as she leaned in to admire it. Strawberry and chocolate fudge layered in perfect harmony, topped with delicate swirls of whipped cream. She took a small bite, slowly savoring it, letting the sweetness melt away her pain, if only for a moment.
By the time she realized it, Ice was already sitting across from her, opening a first aid kit.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.
"Will it hurt?" she replied, still holding a spoon in one hand.
"You're already hurting," he said, opening his palm and gesturing for her to give him her hand. "Hand."
Reluctantly, she extended it while continuing to dig into the parfait with the other. Ice began to apply the burn cream, gently massaging it into her skin.
It feels like a hand massage, she thought.
"I didn't know you had parfaits too!"
The bright sparkle in her eyes was a sharp contrast to the girl on the playground just moments ago. Ice blinked. Unbelievable.
"We use the same ingredients as our pastries," he explained. "Only the ice cream is outsourced—for now. We're planning to make that in-house, too."
Fire looked down at her hands—soft, but now speckled with red marks. Ice's heart tightened. Will this affect her work?
"Can you teach me how to make this too?" she asked between bites, already halfway through the parfait.
"You just want to learn everything, huh? You better not skip class like that again."
He meant it lightheartedly, but her eyes clouded with guilt. He's right… I overreacted. I'm not even that good yet to skip class… what was I thinking? The words stayed in her mind, but outside, she just stared blankly at the dessert in front of her.
That's when Ice noticed.
"I—" he began, unsure how to say what was on his mind.
"I won't do it again. I promise!" she cut in quickly, raising her right hand with a half-smile.
Ice chuckled. The apology he'd built up the courage to make was completely derailed by her innocent sincerity.
"I was just curious—" his voice faltered.
"Hm?" Fire tilted her head, the spoon still in her mouth.
"Nevermind."
"What? No, tell me." She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Come on, curiosity will kill me."
He sighed. I shouldn't have brought it up.
"You don't have to answer," he said carefully, "but… why are you always calling your mom?"
The moment the question landed, Fire froze. Her expression cracked—just for a second. She looked down, and the air around her shifted, like a different weather settling into the room.
"I told you, it's okay, you don't have to—"
"Did I… say it out loud?" she interrupted. Her smile returned, but her eyes—those eyes were crying without a single tear. Dry, yet drowning.
Ice's chest tightened. Her smile hurt to look at.
He gave a small nod.
"Will you listen to me?"
He nodded again, this time silently, bracing himself as she began to drift into a memory.
"Back then… even though I was the only child, our family had it rough. They were just starting out, and everything was expensive. Especially raising a kid. Mom had to budget everything," her voice was light, almost nostalgic. "But no matter how tight things got, the food was always amazing. Always different. Always delicious."
Her eyes lit up with wonder.
"I loved tasting whatever she made. I didn't even know we were struggling. I just thought those were the ingredients we had."
Her smile glowed with pride. "That's how cool Mom was."
But beneath that light, sadness crept in.
"Dad said they were trying to build a life—get a home, raise me. He didn't want Mom to work; he wanted her with me. Every day. And she was."
She scooped more parfait, but her gaze had already left the room.
"Then… she started getting sick. Just a few symptoms, nothing serious—until it was. Dad begged her to go to the hospital. That's when they found out."
She paused, like she was watching a scene in her mind she didn't want to relive.
"They never told me what it was. But I remember… her face changed. She looked tired all the time. And then the treatments started. I barely saw her."
Ice didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Fire's voice painted the picture with enough pain.
"But I believed she'd be okay. Dad said she would. He never lies."
She smiled again. Her eyes didn't.
"He worked even more. I told him I understood—we had to fight for Mom. I tried cooking to help, but I burned everything."
A soft giggle escaped her lips. But it wasn't joy. It was just… habit.
"I stopped after that. Didn't want to burn down the house."
She turned to Ice, forcing another smile.
"Then she came home. I was so happy. It meant the treatment worked, right? Just like Dad said."
Another pause.
"That's what the nine-year-old me believed."
Tears welled again as she looked into Ice's eyes. The room held its breath.
She didn't have to say it. He knew.
There are only two reasons someone comes home from the hospital. Either they're cured… or they can't be.
"I know I'm not the only one," she whispered. "People lose loved ones all the time. They say it's normal. But it's unbearable. A hole that never really closes."
Her voice was empty now—no fire, just ash.
Ice felt his heart collapse under the weight of it. The fear of imagining his own mother like that… it was too much.
"After that, Dad worked harder than ever. I think… a part of him hated himself for not having enough money to save her. And I carried that too. That's why I wanted to start working as soon as I could."
She smiled again, and this time, it stung.
Why do you smile like that? Ice thought. How can you?
The girl he once thought of as a spoiled brat… that wasn't who Fire really was. Not even close.
Silence fell again. Heavy. Suffocating.
"You can cry," he said softly.
Fire turned toward him, eyes wide.
"No!" she protested, even as tears slid down her cheeks. She looked up, as if trying to hold them back. "No, Ice, stop—"
But her voice betrayed her. It was raw. Fragile. Begging.
"You can," he whispered. "I won't tell anyone."
And that was all it took.
The years she spent smiling for her father, pretending to be strong, hiding everything behind "I'm okay"—it all came crashing down.
I have to be strong for Papa
He said I'm his sunshine
I need to smile
I need to be strong
I need to be happy
Tears poured down, dripping from her chin onto Ice's uniform as he held her, letting her cry for all the times she didn't. The pain didn't leave that night—but the burden felt just a little lighter by morning.
Next Chapter: Oriel never thought a pair of heels would change everything.
One fall. One moment in his arms. And suddenly, Dhylan's teasing affection didn't feel so harmless anymore. When lines blur between friendship and something more, Oriel is forced to question the one person she's always trusted most—him.
Is it just a game for Dhylan? Or has he always meant every word, every touch, every "My Ori"?
She's about to find out—whether her heart is ready or not