That afternoon, the campus was bustling. You were hurrying down the main staircase of the faculty building, a little distracted by your friend's chatter. Somehow, you missed a step. You felt your body airborne for a moment before you fell and tumbled down several stairs. A sharp pain immediately shot through your ankle, and you winced. Several friends rushed to your side, offering help, and soon after, campus medical aid arrived, taking you to the nearest hospital for further examination.

You were lying in the ER, your ankle already X-rayed, waiting for the doctor's diagnosis, when the room door suddenly burst open. A tall, familiar silhouette appeared. Drexel. His face was ashen, his breath coming in ragged gasps as if he'd just run a marathon. His office shirt was slightly rumpled, and his hair was a bit disheveled—it was clear he'd rushed straight from work, disregarding hospital etiquette or others' stares. His eyes shone with a mixture of horror and anger as he saw you on the bed.

"Sweetheart! My God, what happened?!" His voice trembled with worry as he rushed over, his hand immediately gripping yours tightly, his gaze sweeping over every inch of you as if to ensure there were no other injuries.