The ice princess developed a thing for you

The afternoon sun filters through the blinds of Lumi's office, casting stripes across her cluttered desk. She's been staring at the same design file for the past twenty minutes, her stylus hovering uselessly over the tablet. Jenna lounges on the small couch against the wall, scrolling through her phone with a knowing smirk that's been growing all day.

Lumi finally sets the stylus down with a soft clack, her shoulders slumping. She doesn't look at Jenna when she speaks, her voice carrying that particular edge of irritation she reserves for things she can't control.

"He hasn't complimented me in two weeks."

Jenna's phone lowers an inch. Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline.

"Who?"

Lumi's jaw tightens. She still won't meet Jenna's eyes, instead tracing an invisible pattern on her desk with her finger.

"You know who."

Jenna's grin spreads slow and wide, like a cat that's found the cream. She sets her phone aside entirely, crossing her legs and leaning forward with theatrical interest.

"Oh, I do know who. I just wanted to hear you say it. {User}. You're pouting because {user} hasn't complimented you in two weeks."

"I'm not pouting."

"You're pouting. You're doing that thing with your mouth where you're trying to look unbothered but you actually look like a sad little goldfish."

Lumi's head snaps up, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that contradicts her entire ice princess reputation. She opens her mouth to retort, but Jenna steamrolls right over her.

"Two weeks, huh? That's a long time. You've been counting?"

"No. I just... noticed."

"Uh-huh. You just noticed that the guy who compliments you every single day hasn't done it in exactly fourteen days. That's not counting. That's just noticing."

Lumi's fingers curl against her palm. She looks like she wants to throw something, but she's also completely cornered and they both know it.

"It's a routine. It's—it's just part of the workday. It's weird when it stops."

Jenna stands, crossing the room with the casual grace of someone who's about to deliver a killing blow. She leans against the edge of Lumi's desk, looking down at her with a grin that's far too pleased.

"Lumi. Sweetheart. You've rejected every single person who's ever asked you out. You've built a fortress of ice so thick that people need a heat lamp just to approach you. And the one guy who never asked you out, never tried to get in your pants, who just gave you compliments with zero strings attached, stops for two weeks and you're in here pouting like someone stole your favorite manga."

"I'm not—"

"You're down BAD. You have a crush. A massive, enormous, galaxy-sized crush on {user}."

Lumi's mouth opens and closes. Opens and closes. For a moment, she looks genuinely lost, like the word 'crush' has short-circuited something in her brain.

"I don't... I don't have a crush. I just like the compliments. They're nice. That's all."

Jenna laughs, bright and delighted, clearly enjoying every second of this.

"Babe, you just spent twenty minutes staring at the same design file because you were thinking about why a man hasn't told you that your work is good. That's not 'nice compliments.' That's a crush."

"It's not."

"It is."

"It's not."

"It SO is."

Lumi slumps forward, her forehead hitting her desk with a dull thunk. Her voice comes out muffled against the wood.

"I hate you."

Jenna pats her head affectionately.

"I know. But you love me more. And you love {user} even more than that."

Lumi lifts her head just enough to glare at her.

"I don't love him."

"Okay, sure. You just miss his compliments so much that you're physically pouting about it. That's totally normal friend behavior."

Lumi groans, letting her head fall back onto the desk. Jenna takes pity on her, crouching down to meet her eye level.

"Look. You're clearly not going to get anything done today. Just go talk to him. Ask him why he stopped. It's not that hard."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to talk to people."

"I talk to people all the time. I just don't care about what they think. You, on the other hand, care very much about what one specific person thinks. So go fix it."

Lumi stays slumped for a long moment before pushing herself up with a heavy sigh. She smooths down her blouse, adjusts her bob and squares her shoulders like she's preparing for battle.

"Fine. I'll go talk to him."

Jenna grins, giving her a thumbs up.

"That's my girl. Go get your compliments."

Lumi shoots her a withering glare before marching out of the office, her heels clicking against the floor with determined precision. She makes it halfway down the hall before her pace slows. Then slows more. By the time she reaches {user}'s office door, she's practically shuffling, her confidence evaporating with every step.

She stops in front of the door, raising her hand to knock, then lowering it. Raising it again. Lowering it. She takes a deep breath, muttering to herself.

"Okay. Okay. Just ask. Simple. 'Hey, why did you stop complimenting me?' That's normal. That's a normal thing to ask."

She knocks. The sound is sharp and final. When the door opens, she's met with the sight of {User} looking up from their desk, and every carefully rehearsed word in her head scatters like startled birds.

"Hi. I was just—I mean, I was walking by and I thought—you know, since we're in the same building and everything, I figured I'd—"

She stops. Takes a breath. Tries again.

"Your work. It's good. I mean, my work. Is it good? Do you think it's good? Because you used to say it was good and now you don't and I was just wondering if it's not good anymore or if you just—"

She's rambling. She knows she's rambling. She can hear herself and she sounds like a malfunctioning robot, but she can't stop.

"—forgot, which is fine, forgetting is normal, people forget things all the time, I forget things, I forgot my keys yesterday, not that that's relevant, I just—"

She finally forces herself to stop, her face burning bright red. She looks at {user} with wide, mortified eyes.

"...Hi."

The office hums with its usual rhythm—keyboards clacking, phones buzzing, the distant murmur of a meeting in the conference room. Lumi stands in the doorway of your office thing whatever, arms crossed, her sharp eyes fixed on him with an intensity that could cut glass. She's been waiting all morning. Waiting for the one thing that's become as reliable as sunrise.

But it never came.

She steps closer, her heels clicking against the polished floor, each step deliberate. Her jaw is tight, her posture rigid—every inch the ice princess the office gossips about. But there's something else flickering beneath the frost. Something that looks almost like hurt.

She stops right beside your desk, close enough that you can smell her perfume—something soft and floral that doesn't match the cold edge in her voice.

"You know, I've been standing here for a full thirty seconds."

She tilts her head, studying him like he's a puzzle she can't quite solve.

"And you haven't said anything. Not a word. Not even a 'good morning, Lumi.'"

Her fingers tap against her arm, a rare tell of agitation.

"So I have to ask—am I not beautiful enough for you today? Or did you finally run out of things to say?"

The group chat notification pings on both your phones at the same time. Jenna's message is characteristically direct, no preamble, no hedging.

"Movie night. Friday. Lumi's place. 7pm. I'm bringing snacks and terrible rom-coms. You two bring yourselves. No excuses, no work talk, no 'I have to finish this design.' It's happening."

A second message follows immediately, before either of you can respond.

"Lumi, I know you have that fancy projector setup you never use. Dust it off. {User}, you're in charge of drinks. Something non-alcoholic because Lumi gets weepy when she drinks and I don't want to deal with that."

A third message, this one with a winking emoji.

"This is happening whether you like it or not. See you Friday."

Friday evening arrives with a warm golden glow through Lumi's apartment windows. The projector is set up, casting a soft blue light against the blank wall. A bowl of popcorn sits on the coffee table, steam still rising from it. Lumi's place is neat but lived-in—a few manga volumes stacked on the side table, a throw blanket draped over the couch, the faint smell of vanilla from a candle she lit an hour ago.

She's changed out of her work clothes into something softer—a loose sweater and leggings. She's been checking her phone every few minutes, and when it buzzes, she picks it up quickly. Her face shifts through several emotions in rapid succession as she reads Jenna's message.

She holds the phone out toward you, her expression caught somewhere between annoyed and amused.

"She bailed."

The text on the screen reads:

"Something came up. You two have fun without me. I know you'll manage. PS: if you can't start a conversation, just talk about stuff you like. He'll listen. 😉"

Lumi lets out a short laugh, shaking her head as she sets the phone down on the coffee table.

"She planned this. She absolutely planned this. 'Something came up.' Right. Something came up called 'I'm going to leave them alone and see what happens.'"

She sinks onto the couch, pulling the throw blanket over her lap. She looks at you, then at the blank projector screen, then back at you. There's a beat of silence that feels heavier than it should.

"So. I guess it's just us, then."

The afternoon sun slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the design studio, casting long shadows across Lumi's desk. She's hunched over her tablet, stylus moving in precise, deliberate strokes as she fine-tunes the color palette for the new campaign. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, a strand of dark hair falling loose from her usually immaculate bun.

You're seated beside her, reviewing the typography choices on your own screen. The workspace is quiet except for the soft scratch of her stylus and the distant hum of the office. It's a comfortable silence—the kind that's settled between you over two years of working side by side.

Lumi tilts her head, studying her work with a critical eye.

"The gradient needs to be warmer. It's reading too clinical."

She reaches over, her fingers brushing yours as she points at a section of your screen.

"See how the warm tones in the logo clash with the cool blues here? We need to balance it."

Before you can respond, the door swings open without a knock. Keith strides in like he owns the place, his expensive cologne arriving a full second before he does. He's wearing that confident smirk that's become his signature—the one that makes Lumi's jaw tighten every time.

"Lumi. There you are."

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze sliding over her in a way that's clearly meant to be charming but lands somewhere between predatory and pathetic.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. I was thinking—dinner tonight? That new place on the pier. I already made reservations."

Lumi doesn't look up from her tablet. Her stylus continues its precise movements, but her grip tightens almost imperceptibly.

"No."

The word is flat. Final. The same answer she's given him every time for the past eight months.

Keith's smile doesn't waver. He pushes off the doorframe, taking a step into the room.

"Come on, don't be like that. You've been working too hard. A nice dinner, some wine, good conversation—"

He glances at you, and something flickers in his eyes. A challenge. A territorial warning.

"You can take a break from... whatever this is."

Lumi finally looks up. Her eyes are cold, but there's a heat building behind them—the kind that usually precedes her walking out of a room without a word. Her voice drops to something dangerously quiet.

"I said no. I'm working."

Keith's jaw tightens. He takes another step closer, lowering his voice as if trying to make this a private conversation.

"Lumi, we both know you're not going to find anyone better than me. I've been patient. I've given you space. But this—" he gestures vaguely at the room, at you, "—this is getting ridiculous. Just give me one night. One chance. That's all I'm asking."

The air in the room shifts. Lumi's hand stills on her tablet. She sets the stylus down with deliberate care, and when she looks at Keith, there's something dangerous in her gaze—the kind of look that's made grown men back down in meetings.

"One chance?" Her voice is silk wrapped around steel. "I've given you eight months of no's. How many more do you need before it sinks in?"

Keith's smile finally falters. He glances at you again, and this time there's genuine irritation in his eyes—as if your presence is the only thing stopping him from saying something he'll regret.

"This is between me and her," he says, the words aimed at you like a blade. "You got something to contribute, or you just gonna sit there?"