"Ugh…"
A soft groan escaped Hannah's lips, her eyes still shut. But the moment she registered the cold, hard floor beneath her, her eyes flew open.
"Wait—did I not fall?" she thought, disoriented.
But reality caught up fast. A loose circle of students had gathered, all staring down at her with wide-eyed concern and whispers. And there, weaving through them, was Levi—already making his way down the stairs.
Hannah quickly pushed herself upright, her gaze flicking to her side—
And froze.
There he was.
Harin.
Just a breath away. Sitting beside her.
"…He caught me?" She stared, stunned.
Harin, now upright himself, had one hand clutched to his palm, a faint grimace on his face. His other hand was braced behind him, steadying his weight. Their eyes met—quietly, fully.
And then…
Their gaze locked. Too long to be casual.
In that strange pause, the murmurs around them faded into a low hum. It felt like the two of them were sitting in a bubble, the rest of the world blurred out.
An invisible thread had spun between them in that silence. Fragile. Thin. Real.
Hannah's eyes trailed down, catching the way his fingers flexed slightly in pain.
She shifted. "Are you oka—" But Harin leaned in before she could finish, his brows slightly furrowed as he looked her over.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, voice low enough that it barely reached over the whispers around them. "You didn't get hurt or anything, did you?"
There was no teasing in his tone. Just genuine concern.
Hannah blinked. For a second, she forgot how to speak. Then, slowly, she shook her head.
"This guy… Who even does that? What kind of idiot throws himself down the stairs for someone he barely knows?"
Before she could say anything more, a faint drip touched her brow. She raised a hand—it was just water. The one she'd splashed on her face earlier. Harin noticed too, and wordlessly reached into his pocket.
A neatly folded handkerchief.
He held it out without looking at her, as if the gesture had no weight. But it did.
She hesitated, then reached out. Their fingers brushed. Just a second. Just skin against skin. Hannah's brows drew together slightly, betraying her awkwardness.
"W-we should get up," she mumbled, eyes darting away.
Harin gave a small laugh—quiet, almost like he didn't mean for her to hear it. He glanced around, noticing the attention they were getting. No wonder she looked so uncomfortable.
He reached out a hand to help her up.
But before she could take it—
"Move. I got her." Levi said.
He'd reached them, eyes sweeping over the scene like a quick scan. His gaze settled on Harin's hand and the way he was clutching his other palm.
"I'll take her. You—clinic. Now," Levi said, calm but firm. No teasing this time. Just quiet authority.
Harin blinked, a little surprised, but nodded. "Alright."
Levi crouched in front of Hannah, not even asking before turning his back toward her.
"…What are you doing?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Get on."
"I can walk."
"With a sprained ankle?" he said, giving her a look.
She clicked her tongue in annoyance, muttered something under her breath, and climbed onto his back with a huff.
And just like that, the three of them made their way to the clinic.
The walk was silent—but not the kind that brought peace. It was heavy. Loaded.
Every footstep sounded like it was echoing off the walls of something unspoken.
Hannah, resting against Levi's back, found her gaze drifting forward.
Toward Harin.
He walked a little ahead, his pace steady, his hand still cradled near his side.
And for a moment… she just stared.
"He's such an idiot," she thought. "But still… I'm grateful."
Levi, being Levi, eventually broke the silence.
He turned his head slightly and caught her staring.
"Y'know, you're pretty comfy for someone who swore they could walk," he said with a grin.
Hannah instantly pulled her head back, flustered. "Walk faster. And stop saying things that make me want to jump off your back."
He snorted. "Alright, alright."
Once they reached the clinic, Levi lowered her down with care. She let out a sigh as her back touched the bed.
"Well," Levi said, stretching his back, "since you two are here, I'll go grab the nurse. Don't run away."
"I'm coming too," Harin said, already taking a step.
But Levi held up a hand. "Nope. You stay. Get your hand looked at. I'll handle the club stuff."
He shot Harin a look—half serious, half teasing—then added as he walked out: "Don't get too awkward in here."
The door closed.
And just like that, silence returned.
But this time it felt louder. Thicker.
Harin sat on the chair across from her, his injured hand now resting on his knee. Neither of them spoke. The white walls of the clinic seemed to listen.
The soft tick of the wall clock suddenly became the loudest thing in the room. Hannah glanced at Harin, but he looked away just as quickly. Neither spoke.
The air felt heavier than it should've. Not uncomfortable—but charged. Like both of them were waiting for something they didn't have the courage to say.
Why does it feel like this? she wondered.
Just minutes ago, he was a stranger. A quiet boy she'd barely noticed. And now?
Now her heart wouldn't calm down.
---
Several minutes had passed, yet Levi still hadn't come back. The nurse hadn't arrived either.
Hannah sat stiffly on the clinic bed, every muscle in her body screaming with secondhand embarrassment. The silence? Deafening. The glances? Torturous. Every time she caught Harin looking, she nearly exploded into a puddle of awkward atoms.
"This is a setup", she thought, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling like it owed her answers. They kept bumping into each other. The stares. The timing. And now this? Alone in the clinic together? It was giving… rom-com side quest energy, and she hated how it felt.
She then swore the universe was playing some messed-up rom-com prank on her.
And after a while she let out a soft groan and dramatically flopped her head back against the wall.
Harin turned to her, confused. "Are you okay?" his eyes silently asked.
But instead of responding like a normal person, Hannah accidentally glared at him. Harin flinched slightly, like a startled hamster.
Then her expression shifted.
Her gaze dropped to his hand—and her breath hitched. The skin was blotched with deep purple, its swollen too.
Her brows furrowed. That wasn't there before. Did he hurt it when we fell? she wondered.
And suddenly, it clicked.
She didn't feel the floor when she fell. In fact, she remembered landing on something soft. Or more accurately… someone. She blinked.
He protected my head—with his hand.
Hannah's lips parted slightly in realization. She stared at him, stunned, as guilt quietly crept in.
Without a word, she stood from the bed, wincing a bit from her ankle, and scanned the room. Her eyes landed on the first aid kit sitting on a high shelf. Determined, she grabbed a chair and carefully climbed up.
Harin, noticing the movement, jumped up in alarm. "Hannah—" he started, his tone edged with concern.
She stretched to reach the kit but sighed in frustration when her fingers barely grazed it.
"Let me get it for you," Harin said suddenly, his voice close behind her.
Hannah froze.
He was right behind her, arms slightly out like he was ready to catch her if she slipped again. Just like a human safety net.
A small smile tugged at her lips. She didn't show it—but she felt it.
"It's okay. I can do it," she said, still reaching.
"I know you can," Harin replied softly, almost teasing. "But let me."
His hand hovered, patient and open. "Come on, or you'll just end up hurting yourself more."
And for some reason… Hannah didn't reject him this time.
She took his hand.
Once the kit was retrieved, Harin sat across from her on the clinic bed, rummaging through it.
Hannah watched him for a second before speaking, "Let me treat you first. I'm the one who wanted the kit, anyway."
Harin looked up and shook his head. "It's fine. Let me take care of your ankle first. It could get worse."
"Yours already looks worse," she pointed out, her eyes on his bruised palm.
Harin opened his mouth to protest, but Hannah had already snatched the kit from his lap and set it beside her.
"Hand," she demanded simply.
Harin sighed, muttering under his breath at how stubborn she was—but he gave in, offering his hand.
The cold pack pressed against his skin, but her touch was soft—focused, precise. Harin watched her, entranced by how careful she was. How her brow furrowed with quiet concern. There was something new in her expression again.
The room was quiet again—but now, it wasn't heavy or suffocating. It was… calm.
Harin glanced at her. Her focus was on his hand, her brows furrowed slightly. He couldn't help but stare.
Noticing his gaze, Hannah glanced up at him.
"…You're an idiot," she muttered, breaking the silence.
Harin blinked. "A what?"
Hannah let out a quiet chuckle, amused by his confused reaction.
Harin frowned, but there was no bite in it. He just watched her laugh.
"I said I'm grateful," she corrected, her voice quieter now. Her attention drifted back to his hand, but the weight of her words lingered in the air.
"That's not what you said."
"No, it's not," she agreed. Then, softer, "But… thank you."
Harin wasn't prepared for that—her tone was gentle, sincere, not laced with sarcasm like usual.
Her sincerity cracked through her usual bluntness like sunlight through blinds. Harin then just stared, a little stunned.
Then, a small smile formed on his lips.
"…It was nothing," he said quietly.