The university hallways felt different today. The air was thick with the residue of the trauma from the night before, at least for me. Every time a door slammed too hard or a student walked too quickly behind me, my heart hammered against my ribs. But the physical world was secondary to the heavy, impenetrable wall of silence radiating from the front row of the lecture hall.
Hanbin was there. He had arrived before anyone else, sitting in his usual spot, but the person occupying that seat looked like a hollow shell.
He didn't look at me when I walked in. He didn't look at the professor. He didn't even look at his laptop. His hands, still wrapped in fresh white bandages that starkly contrasted with his black hoodie, were folded neatly on the desk. He was staring at a fixed point on the chalkboard, his eyes devoid of the sharp, analytical spark that usually defined him. He was physically present, but his soul seemed to be miles away.
When the class ended, he packed his bag with mechanical precision and walked out without a word to anyone. I stood there, frozen. After what he had done for me last night, this sudden distance felt like a physical blow.
"Don't take it personally, Danoh-ya."
I turned to see Jeonghan standing behind me. He wasn't smiling his usual mischievous smile. He looked tired, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet concern.
"Jeonghan," I said, stepping closer. "What's wrong with him? Is he in trouble because of the police? Is his hand hurting? He wouldn't even look at me."
Jeonghan sighed, leaning against a desk. He and Hanbin had been best friends since childhood; he was the only one who truly knew the architecture of Hanbin's mind.
"It's not the police. And it's not the hand," Jeonghan said softly. "Today is December 22nd."
I blinked. "Okay?"
"It's his birthday," Jeonghan revealed.
My heart sank. A birthday? He was sitting in that cold silence on his birthday? "I didn't know. I should have—"
"That's not why he's like this," Jeonghan interrupted. "Five years ago today... on his fifteenth birthday... his grandmother died. She was the one who raised him, Hyuk-hyung and Harin while their parents were busy building the business. She was the only person who could truly melt that ice he carries around. She passed away right in front of him at the dinner table while they were celebrating."
I felt the air leave my lungs. A birthday that was also an anniversary of death.
"He hasn't celebrated since," Jeonghan continued. "Every year on this date, he shuts down. He blames himself—like his birthday was the catalyst for her leaving. It's a glitch in his system that he can't patch. Even his family can't get through to him today."
I looked toward the door where Hanbin had disappeared. I thought of him running through the streets for me last night, ignoring his own safety just to make sure I didn't lose my world. And today, he was losing his.
"Where is he, Jeonghan? Exactly."
Jeonghan looked at me, a small, sad smile finally touching his lips. He scribbled an address on a piece of paper. "He's at the old memorial park by the river. Danoh-ya... be careful. He's just a boy who misses his grandmother today."
"I know," I said, already turning to run. "I know exactly what that feels like."
I knew the weight of being the one left behind. He had been my shield last night; today, I was going to be his light.