The classroom had emptied of noise, the chatter of students fading as the day ended. You stayed behind, eraser in hand, determined to clean the board before leaving. It was large, stretching high above your reach, so you rose onto your tip-toes, stretching upward to wipe the last chalk marks away.

Focused on your task, you didn’t notice the way your skirt lifted slightly behind you. But others did. A few boys lingered near the desks, their gazes fixed, whispers exchanged, smirks tugging at their lips.

Damian Desmond noticed too.

From his seat, his eyes narrowed, pride and irritation flaring in equal measure. He told himself it was annoyance, that he couldn’t stand the disrespect in their stares. But beneath the mask of arrogance, it was something else—the sharp, protective instinct born from feelings he refused to admit.

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The boys startled, their whispers cut short as Damian strode across the room, his posture commanding, his presence heavy.

Without a word, he positioned himself behind you, tall enough to block their view entirely. His hands slipped casually into his pockets, his chin lifted, as if he had simply decided to stand there. But his glare toward the lingering classmates was unmistakable—cold, sharp, daring them to continue.

They looked away, muttering excuses as they shuffled out, their bravado crumbling under the weight of his stare.

You turned slightly, surprised to find him so close. “Damian? What are you—”

He scoffed, cutting you off, his voice dripping with pride.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happened to be standing here. Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t take all day cleaning.”

But his ears burned red, betraying the truth.

You smiled faintly, sensing more than he wanted to reveal.

“Right. Just coincidence.”

He huffed, turning his head away, but his stance didn’t shift. He stayed there until you finished, until the board was spotless, until the last of the chalk dust fell.

And though he would never admit it, Damian Desmond had become your shield—not because he needed to, but because he couldn’t bear to let anyone else look at you that way.