Fire and Ice - 2
The morning burned quietly, the tavern wrapped in a soft gray haze, its air heavy with the scent of fresh bread and smoldering embers.
The hearth glowed low, casting faint shadows across empty tables, the silence thick enough to feel.
Mira didn't storm into the kitchen or snap flames against the windows.
She moved like embers—slow, hot, coiled in her core, her bronze skin flushed beneath a loose tunic, her red hair spilling wild over her shoulders.
Kio stood at the bar, as always, wiping down glasses with a steady hand, sorting dried herbs into jars with a reverence that belied the mundane task.
His collar was open, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms taut with quiet strength.
His face remained unreadable, his dark eyes focused but aware, a tide waiting to pull her under.
Mira slid onto a stool, her curvy frame tense, her amber eyes locked on him.
She didn't speak, didn't blink, her hands resting on the bar, nails pressing into the wood. The silence stretched, heavy and taut, her inner fire screaming against the stillness.
Finally, she broke.
"You've fucked them both," she said, her voice low, edged with heat.
Kio didn't pause, his cloth gliding over a glass.
"I have," he said, his tone steady, calm.
"Touched them. Tied them. Took them apart," she pressed, her voice tightening, her knuckles whitening.
He slid a cork into a jar, the faint clink echoing in the quiet. "Yes."
Mira's hands curled tighter, the wood creaking under her grip.
"So why not me?" she asked, her voice cracking, raw with a need she couldn't hide.
Kio stilled, his hands pausing.
He looked at her—really looked—and the weight of his gaze shattered something inside her.
Not rejection, but restraint, a quiet intensity that burned hotter than her fire.
"Mira," he said softly, his voice a balm, "you weren't ready."
"I've been here," she shot back, her voice breaking.
"Longer than Rin. Longer than Lira. I've flirted, teased, begged without words—"
"Exactly," he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. "Without words."
Her breath hitched, her chest rising, her amber eyes wide with hurt and want.
"You burn," he said, his voice quieter now, piercing her core. "All the time. Even when you smile. Especially when you smile."
Mira hated him in that moment, her fire flaring, but she wanted him more, her heart thudding against her ribs.
"I needed you to ask," Kio said, stepping around the bar to stand before her, close but not touching. "Not perform."
She laughed, a single bitter sound, her eyes glistening. "And if I never do?"
His gaze held hers, unyielding, warm. "I'll still be here."
The silence rose again, heavy with her heartbeat.
Mira stepped forward, her hands pressing to his chest, her fingers trembling against the fabric.
"I don't want to burn alone anymore," she whispered, her voice raw, her facade crumbling.
"Then stop trying to prove you can't be melted," Kio said, his words soft but heavy, a challenge wrapped in care.
She blinked fast, no tears falling, but they hovered, threatening.
Kio didn't move, his presence a steady anchor, letting her feel the weight of her own surrender.
Later that night, in the quiet of her room, Mira found the silk square again, its folds cool against her skin.
She unwrapped it, revealing the glass vial, its contents chilled, a faint condensation beading on its surface.
She sat on the edge of her bed, the tavern's hush pressing around her, and slid the vial between her thighs, its cold bite drawing a slow breath.
Her body hummed, her fire banked but alive, responding to the chill.
She didn't touch herself.
Instead, she whispered into the silence, "Please," her voice barely audible, a plea born of need, not performance.
The vial's chill deepened, a fleeting sensation against her skin, as if answering her surrender.