"Let's go," Ice said, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "I'm treating you to ice cream."
Fire's eyes lit up instantly, the joy in her expression childlike and sudden, as if someone had flipped a switch. "Ice cream? Let's go!"
He let out a quiet sigh, relief washing over him. For the first time that night, the tightness in his chest loosened. Maybe he had messed up earlier, but this—this he could handle.
He stood and offered her his hand. "Can you stand?"
She nodded reflexively, reaching for him, but her fingers trembled as they brushed his. That's when he noticed the redness streaking across her skin. He glanced at her other hand, mostly hidden in shadow, and caught a faint outline of a burn.
Worried, he knelt back down beside her. "What happened?" he asked gently, extending his hand again—not just to help, but to reassure.
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then, slowly, she placed her injured hand into his. Her voice was barely above a whisper, thick with guilt.
"When I got back from the call... the oven was burning. I panicked. I knew how much the place meant to you—and I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I just opened it, thinking I could use the fire extinguisher... but when I reached for the handle, it burned me so bad I couldn't even hold onto it..."
Her voice trailed off, as though speaking the words aloud made them heavier.
Ice gently examined her palms. The skin was inflamed, the imprint of the oven handle still faintly visible. It wasn't a burn that needed surgery, but the pain must've been intense. His jaw tightened.
"Let's get you to the hospital," Ice suggested. But the moment the words left his mouth, she pulled away, as if he had betrayed her.
"No, please," she pleaded, her eyes wide with panic and tears. "No hospital."
Ice hesitated, but there was no mistaking the raw emotion in her eyes. For a moment, he wondered if she might be playing on his sympathy—but the fear etched into her expression made him doubt it. Defeated, he let out a heavy sigh. This wasn't a battle he was going to win.
In the end, Ice managed to convince her to at least let him treat her burns. "How about a parfait from the pastry shop? I'll take care of your hands there," he offered gently. She gave a small nod in agreement, though the tension between them still lingered, hanging in the air like mist that refused to lift.
Later, in the quiet bakery after closing hours, the towering parfait sat like a crown jewel at the center of a polished wooden tray, surrounded by neatly placed silverware. Ice had convinced his mom to let him stay late—he needed the space, and he needed to treat her burns.
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 clutching her spoon.
"You're already hurting," he said, reaching out. "Hand."
Reluctantly, she offered it while continuing to eat with the other. Ice applied the burn cream with slow, careful movements, gently massaging it into her skin.
It almost felt like a hand massage.
"I didn't know you had parfaits too!" she said brightly.
The glow in her voice caught him off guard. Just minutes ago, she had been curled up in the dark, crying like the world was ending. Now—this.
Unreal.
"We use the same ingredients from our pastries," he replied. "Only the ice cream is outsourced. For now."
Her eyes dropped to her hands—reddened and blotched. Ice glanced at them too. His chest tightened.
Will she still be able to work?
"Can you teach me how to make this?" she asked between spoonfuls.
"You just want to learn everything, don't you?" he said, trying to sound light. "Don't skip class like that again."
The moment the words left his mouth, her gaze dimmed. The guilt hit her quickly—he saw it.
He meant it as a joke, but... maybe it was too soon.
I overreacted, she thought. I'm not even that skilled yet. What was I thinking?
She didn't say it out loud—just stared at the parfait in silence.
Ice noticed. "I—" he began, unsure how to phrase what he really wanted to say.
"I won't do it again! Promise!" she interrupted, raising her right hand with a sheepish smile.
Ice chuckled. The apology he'd built up the courage to make was completely derailed by her innocent sincerity.
"I was just curious," he said, though he faltered.
"Hm?" she tilted her head, spoon still in her mouth.
"Never mind."
"No, tell me." She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "Come on, curiosity will kill me."
He sighed. I shouldn't have said anything...
"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 away, and the air around her shifted, like a different weather settling into the room.
"I told you, it's okay," he began to backtrack, "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.
He gave a small nod. He didn't push. He simply waited.
"Will you listen to me?"