I do my best to ignore it, but the heavy weight of their malevolent gazes makes the hairs on my body rise up. Ze does not comment on it, however, and I don't bring it up either. Instead, I make some small talk on the way, keeping his attention on me so he doesn't register the extent of people's dislike. Knowing him, he would take umbrage at people failing to recognize his greatness and that could lead to a conflict no one wants.

Luckily, though, we reach the shop rather fast. The building is made out of red brick, with a white sign over the door saying: Jojo's sweet ice. As we enter the shop, a few waitresses run around the place, scribbling down orders with a pleasant smile on their faces. The place is almost full. Lively chatter fills the room, with customers engaged in animated discussions while they're enjoying their desserts.

The door closes behind us and everyone stops what they're doing to stare at us.

Silence envelops the room. One of the waitresses blinks, her smile falling. All the color leaves the customers' faces, the previously relaxed atmosphere becoming heavy and intense.

I clear my throat as I look at Ze.

"What about that table?" I point to a faraway corner.

He grunts, taking my hand and leading me there. And for the first time, I'm surprised to see a gentlemanly side to him as he pulls a chair for me to sit. He takes a seat across from me, though the chair is too small for him. Still, he doesn't complain, merely letting his calculated gaze roam around the room. Although he's not saying anything, his stiff manner alone is threatening enough, and people feel the shift in the air. The shop turns eerily calm, and although people are not openly staring at us, they're still furtively stealing glances, their voices now barely above a whisper.

The waitresses are gathered in a corner, talking amongst themselves and gesturing toward our table. Eventually, one of them hunches her shoulders and comes our way, bringing two menus with her.

She lays them on the table for us and scurries out of the way before we can even thank her.

Odd.

Grabbing one of the menus, I quietly study it, thankful it comes with pictures.

"This looks so good." I smile. The ice is served in a round cup the size of my fist, and it appears there are a multitude of flavors, all served with a syrup on top.

"What will you have?" I ask Ze.

His brows are knit together as he peruses the options, but he seems conflicted about his choice.

"What will you have?" he fires back.

"Chocolate, of course." I chuckle, pointing to the chocolate chip one.

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips.

"Of course, your favorite." He nods. "What is your second favorite?"