Shiver Through Burn

Chapter 6

We were left in the dust, as if we were the ones who had just done the most embarrassing thing, but no, the award for most awkward moment clearly went to Navida, and she didn’t even know it yet.

We just stood there, frozen, trying to digest what just happened, like we were part of some chaotic sitcom. The hallway echoed with the sound of her shoes clacking away—faster and faster—until there was nothing but the faint sound of her shoes hitting the ground, like an old-school Looney Tunes chase scene where the protagonist thinks they’re getting away, but they’re really just digging themselves into a bigger hole.

Bien watched, unimpressed. "She’s really gone, huh?"

My lips curved. "She’s quick. Gotta give her that."

Hellion burst out laughing, but Bien lightly slapped his cheek to get him to stop.

I leaned back against the wall, shaking my head with a grin. "She’s definitely gonna regret running. If Octavino didn’t notice her before, he’ll definitely know who she is now."

Bien crossed her arms. "I doubt it. Octavino’s chill like that."

"Yeah, you're right," I agreed. "He’s not the type to make a big deal out of this."

Hellion shrugged, still grinning. "Still, pretty funny though."

We stood there for a moment, watching Navida speed down the hallway, probably trying to find the nearest exit like it was some kind of escape from a hostage situation. I swear, if there was a door to Narnia, she’d be the first one to find it.

"Should we go after her?" Bien asked, her smirk widening.

I chuckled and shook my head. "No chances. With the way she runs, she could probably run a marathon straight back to their province." I said while watching Vida’s wild sprint across the field.

Honestly, how is she that fast? How did she manage to fly from the third floor to the field in heels? Navida’s unpredictability is both a gift and a curse—like, one second she’s tripping over her own feet, and the next, she’s starring in a one-woman race to the Olympics.

We were cracking up, with Bien having the time of her life recording Vida’s dramatic getaway. I’m pretty sure by the time this hits the group chat, Navida will be the center of attention again.

And considering the heat, Vida’s skin is probably getting double-baked under the sun. It’s like she signed up for a marathon and a tanning appointment at the same time. I just shrugged, watching my friend make the best of an embarrassing situation. Honestly, at this point, I was more embarrassed for her than she was for herself.

"I'll go now, enjoy your date," I said to the two lovebirds. They just waved at me like they were in their own little world.

I walked down the hall, all alone, as students greeted me, because, you know, being part of student council means I’m the one everyone says "hi" to in the halls. As a part of my "characterization," I made small talk.

Being president of the student council? Never my plan. I tried my best to avoid politics because I knew too well there’s always some dirty business involved. But guess what? Sebastian, my lovely father, ordered me to be the perfect student leader. Why? So people could say, "The Guilermo family—great leaders from birth." Yeah, that was exactly his reasoning.

When I got to the office, just as I expected, my desk was covered in paperwork—piles of it. There’s no such thing as “rest” in the system they set up for me. I wasn’t allowed to rest, not that I ever had a choice. Sighing, I put on my glasses and started going through the first stack of papers.

I was still trying to figure out what and where I could start in the piles of documents when the door creaked open.

I didn’t even need to look up. I could already smell his cologne—crisp, like the kind that says, I’m here to ruin your day.

Lucerio.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just placed his things on his side of the desk. Routine. We’ve been sharing this office for years—two sides of the same coin, always on opposite sides. Enemies, but never too far to strike.

"You're late," I muttered, still not looking up.

"No, I’m not," he replied, lounging in his chair. "Besides, as long as I get here before the building collapses, I’m good. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we both get buried under the rubble so I can still bother you in hell."

I glanced at him, and our eyes met again—his gaze calm, almost calculating. Of course, there was that infuriating grin, the one that always made my blood boil. If only I could rip that mouth off his face.

"Congrats on not being late for once," I said dryly.

"Only because I heard you were drowning in paperwork," he replied, cracking open his sleek laptop. "Wouldn’t miss the moment the queen crumbles."

I smirked. "Don’t flatter yourself, De Chavel. This queen doesn’t crumble. If I ever do, you’ll be the first one to be crushed by the paperwork mountain."

"Sure," he said, smirking while typing away. "Until the paper tower on your desk declares independence."

I didn’t respond. I just went back to my work, and he did the same. The silence wasn’t exactly peaceful... but it was familiar. Comfortable, in a very annoying way.

I didn’t even notice when he stepped out of the room, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to ask where he was going, anyway.

My eyes were glued to the financial report for University Week. I knew Navida had handled it, and despite her chaos, no one could deny that she had the financial instincts of an accountant trapped in a whirlwind of chaos.

I didn’t hear him come back in. Until... he slid a cup of coffee in front of me.

I blinked at it. The steam immediately fogged up my glasses, and the scent hit me—a strong, comforting aroma with just a hint of vanilla. My favorite.

I lifted my eyes to him, cautious.

"What?" he asked, looking innocently annoying.

"You poisoned this?" I asked flatly.

"No, but now I kind of wish I did," he replied, sipping his iced coffee.

I stared at him, still trying to figure him out.

"Don’t look at me like that," he said, glancing back at me.

"Like what?"

"Like I just confessed to a crime. It’s just coffee, Guilermo."

"Coffee from where?"

"The café in front of the library. The one with the barista who has a cloud tattoo on his neck."

I stared at him. "You remembered how I like my coffee?"

"I just know," he muttered. "You’ve ordered the same thing for three years straight."

I narrowed my eyes. "You’ve been paying attention for three years?"

He leaned in a little, our faces inches apart. I tried to keep my composure. "It’s hard not to memorize you, Guilermo. You’re like a music box... predictable, steady... always playing the same tune."

My lips parted... He was right.

I reached for the coffee, trying to stay calm. "So, this is your way of what? Being supportive? What’s the catch?"

"Not everything’s a trap, Guilermo," he said in a serious tone. "Sometimes, a cup of coffee is just a cup of coffee."

I took a sip. It was perfect.

"You know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m not fond of someone who spends her life leading the student body and carrying her father’s reputation like it’s a backpack."

I looked at him sharply. My grip on the cup tightened. He stepped back to his desk to finish his work.

He wasn’t smug now. Just... honest.

That was worse.

"I didn’t ask for any of this," I said quietly.

He nodded. "I know."

And for once, we didn’t argue.

I watched him for a moment longer, but he kept his eyes on his laptop, typing like he didn’t just drop a bomb and walk away like it didn’t explode.

I took another sip. It was perfect. Annoyingly perfect. I hated how well he knew me. I hated even more that he pretended not to.

The rest of the hour passed in silence, broken only by the scratching of pens, the clicking of keys, and the occasional sigh of mutual frustration over the endless paperwork.

"Done," I finally said, pushing the last folder aside and stretching my fingers.

Lucerio leaned back in his chair, glancing at his watch. "We’ve got ten minutes before class."

I grabbed my things, adjusting my clothes as I stood. We both left the office.

We didn’t speak, but I didn’t walk away either. We walked down the hall side by side, like two figures on a campus where nobody ever questioned our rivalry.

We’ve been classmates since kindergarten. I was five years old when I first met him. Back then, I didn’t think much of him. Just another rich kid with a big mouth and an even bigger ego. But over time, that changed—mostly the rivalry.

High school? It got worse. He followed me like a shadow, copying everything I did, trying to outdo me at every turn. If I excelled, he had to excel harder. If I won, he swore he’d win next time. It was obsessive.

Then college. Same story. I chose Legal Management. He chose it too. Coincidence? Definitely not. During freshman orientation, he looked me dead in the eye and said, "I just want to see if I can finally beat you, Guilermo."

And he’s been at it ever since. Always trying to mirror my every move. But despite all the years, all the competition... he’s never actually won.

I walked into the lecture hall and took my usual seat in the front row. A second later, I heard the shuffle of his footsteps. He slid into the chair beside me like it was reserved for him. I didn’t bother moving. He wouldn’t listen anyway.

"Still sitting beside me?" I muttered, arranging my notes. "What is this? Proximity-based learning? Obsessed much?"

He chuckled, low and unapologetic. "Just staying close to the competition."

"Stay close enough," I shot back with a tight, polite smile, "and maybe you’ll learn something."

"You sure about that?" he said, smirking. "I might outmatch you this time, Guilermo."

The door opened, and the professor walked in. Everyone stood to greet her. I shot Lucerio one last glance as we sat back down.

"Try me," I said, cool and confident.

"I always do," he replied with that infuriating grin.