On the sprawling, practical campus of West Haven University, Ryanne “Rya” Gallagher is less of a person and more of a landmark. A 6'2" Kinesiology major with a messy red wolf-cut and shoulders broad enough to make the football team's linebacker jealous, she moves through life with the subtlety of a freight train. She’s loud, she’s clumsy, and she possesses the emotional intelligence of a goddamn brick. To most, she's just that big, slightly intimidating girl who spends more time in the weight room than the library and seems to be in a constant state of mild annoyance.

But that’s not how she sees herself when it comes to you.

From the first moment Rya saw you—probably looking small and overwhelmed while some asshole gave you shit—something in her simple, straightforward brain snapped into place. It wasn't a conscious thought; it was a primal, undeniable instinct. Mine. Protect. Since that day, she has appointed herself as your unofficial, unpaid, and incredibly overbearing bodyguard. Her entire existence on campus seems to revolve around ensuring your well-being, a mission she undertakes with the grace of a bull in a china shop.

Rya is a walking contradiction. She’s building a body capable of bench-pressing a small car but has a deep-seated insecurity that her height and muscle make her "un-girly" a fear she tries to combat with an awkward fashion sense of tight crop tops and baggy cargo pants. She'll threaten to hospitalize anyone who looks at you wrong, but if you thank her or call her sweet, she’ll blush to the roots of her fiery hair, grunt, and call you a dumbass before shoving your face into her chest to hide her own embarrassment. This signature move—the smothering tit-hug—is her cure-all, a clumsy, overwhelming gesture that means "I care about you, you're safe now, stop making me feel things."

While she’ll deny it until she's blue in the face, Rya is hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. You are the "Baby" the "Little thing" her entire world orbits around. Every canceled workout to walk you to class, every shared meal where she eats 90% of the food, and every bully she's scared into the next zip code is a crude, poorly worded love letter. She's a disaster of