The lobby of the Computer Science building was a chaotic symphony of clicking heels, shifting backpacks, and the hollow echo of voices. To anyone else, it was just the start of a Tuesday. To me, it was a test of endurance. I stood by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, my eyes fixed on the entrance.
I was waiting for her.
I hadn't slept well. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the heat of her palms on my cheeks. I heard the way she said my name—not with the polite distance of a classmate, but with a raw, desperate recognition that had shattered the quiet world I had spent eighteen years building. My body felt heavy, energized by a strange, protective restlessness that I couldn't shake.
Then, the glass doors swung open.
I saw her immediately. She was wearing a baggy hoodie and a cap pulled low, trying to be invisible. But she could never be invisible to me. My eyes tracked her automatically, noting the way she favored her left side, her steps uneven and hesitant.
She was hurting. The realization tightened a knot in my stomach that had been there since I left her at the pharmacy.
I watched her hesitate. She looked up, and for a split second, our eyes met across the crowded lobby. I saw her mouth open, a small "O" of surprise or perhaps the beginning of my name. She started toward me, limping slightly, and I found myself taking an instinctive step forward to meet her halfway.
But then, she stopped.
It wasn't a gradual pause. It was a total freeze, as if the air around her had turned to lead. Her gaze shifted away from me, locking onto a group of seniors walking toward the elevators.
I followed her line of sight.
Jung Kai.
He was in the center of the group, laughing with a loud, forced bravado. But as he drew closer to Danoh, his laughter died. He slowed down, his eyes narrowing into something dark and venomous. Danoh stood perfectly still, her small frame trembling, her eyes wide with a terror so profound it made my blood run cold. They stared at each other—a predator and the prey that had dared to bite back.
Kai passed her, his shoulder nearly brushing hers, whispering something I couldn't hear but could see in the way her face paled. He didn't look at me. He didn't see the shadow standing by the window.
For five seconds after he disappeared into the elevator, Danoh remained rooted to the spot. She looked small. Fragile. Like a single breath of wind could knock her over.
The protective instinct that had sparked in the hallway last night roared into a wildfire. I didn't care about being quiet anymore. I didn't care about my "Ice Prince" reputation.
I walked toward her.
"Danoh," I said.
She flinched, her head snapping toward me. Her eyes were still glassy from the encounter with Kai, but as they focused on me, the terror began to recede, replaced by that overwhelming, rosy embarrassment I remembered from the night before.
"Hanbin... Hanbin-ssi," she whispered.
I looked at her leg, then back at her face. I wanted to ask if she was okay. I wanted to ask what Kai had said. I wanted to tell her that I wouldn't let him near her again. But the words felt too big for my throat. I had spent my whole life being the guy who said nothing.
My mind scrambled for a way to keep her near me, to ensure she was safe for at least another hour. I thought of my family—how they used food as a bridge for everything.
"Have you eaten?" The words felt clumsy, alien.
She blinked, confused. "What?"
"Lunch," I said, my heart starting to drum against my ribs. "Let's eat lunch together. My treat."
The silence that followed was deafening. Internal alarms were screaming in my head. What are you doing? You don't eat lunch with people. You eat with Jeonghan or you eat alone. Even Jeonghan had to beg me for weeks before I agreed to a regular lunch schedule. And here I was, offering a "treat" to a girl I had barely spoken a word to in three years.
I felt the heat rising to my own ears. I was embarrassed—terrified, even—by my own boldness.
Danoh looked at me, her eyes searching mine for a joke that wasn't there. She looked hesitant, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.
"I... I have a friend," she said softly. "Ji-yoon. She's waiting for me. Can I bring her?"
I didn't want to bring a friend. I wanted the silence of her presence. But if it meant she would stay, I would agree to anything.
"Yes," I nodded. "Bring her."
"Okay," she whispered, a tiny, tentative smile touching her lips. "Okay, Hanbin-ssi."
The first lecture of our university life was held in a large, tiered auditorium. Usually, I would find a seat in the very back corner, a place where I could observe without being observed. But as I walked in, I saw Danoh and her friend Ji-yoon sitting in the middle row.
I didn't hesitate. I walked down the aisle, my boots echoing on the wood, and slid into the empty seat right next to her.
The whispers started almost instantly. I could feel the eyes of a hundred freshmen on my back. The "Top Student," the "Shadow," the guy who looked like he belonged on a billboard but acted like he belonged in a cave, was sitting next to a girl in a baggy hoodie.
Jeonghan, who was sitting a few rows back, let out a low whistle that I pointedly ignored.
Danoh looked at me, her eyes wide. "You're sitting here?"
"The view is better," I lied.
The professor started talking about algorithms and data structures, but for the first time in my life, I couldn't focus on the logic. I was too aware of the girl beside me. I saw the way she winced when she shifted her leg. I saw the way her hand shook slightly as she took notes.
I realized then that this "addiction" to protecting her wasn't a temporary thing. It wasn't just because she was drunk or bleeding. It was because she was Danoh. And even if she wasn't hurt, even if she was the strongest person in the room, I wanted to be the wall between her and the world.
I opened my notebook, but instead of writing the definition of a 'linked list,' I found my pen hovering over the paper.
I wanted to protect her when she was hurt. And I wanted to protect her even when she wasn't.
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She was focused on the screen, a stray lock of hair falling over her face. I reached out, my hand stopping just inches from her temple. I pulled back, clenching my fist.
Patience, Hanbin, I told myself.
But as I caught sight of Jung Kai sitting five rows down, staring back at us with a dark, calculating look, I knew that patience was a luxury I might not be able to afford.
Today, the numbers didn't matter. The rankings didn't matter. Only the girl beside me mattered.
And I was going to make sure everyone knew it.