Damien
She's waiting by the campus café when I get there—early, for once. Hair cascading down her back like silk. Oversized hoodie. No lip gloss.
That's the first thing I notice.
The second? She's not bouncing on her heels. Not rambling. Not lighting up the space around her like usual.
"Morning," she says, offering me a coffee cup like it's muscle memory.
"Thanks." I take it from her, our fingers brushing for half a second. She doesn't cling. Doesn't loop her arm through mine like she always does.
I squint. "You okay?"
She nods. Smiles. It's… polite.
Vivienne never smiles politely.
"I had a long night. Couldn't sleep." She sips her drink. No whipped cream today. No caramel drizzle. Just black.
Definitely not okay.
I wait for the usual commentary—the dramatic retelling of what playlist she cried to at 2 a.m., or the dream she had where I was a mafia prince and she was kidnapped in Paris.
But nothing comes.
Silence.
Vivienne doesn't do silence.
"You seem… quiet," I say finally.
She shrugs. "Didn't want to annoy you."
And that—that—hits harder than anything else.
I stop walking. "Viv. You don't annoy me."
"You sure?" she says, looking up at me through lashes way too long for her own good. "Because I was pretty clingy yesterday."
Something shifts in my chest. I don't like this version of her. The careful one. The one second-guessing herself.
I miss the hurricane.
"I like clingy," I say, voice lower than I mean it to be.
She blinks, startled.
"Viv, you've literally been attached to my side since we were five," I continue. "If I had a problem with it, you'd know."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. You're not too much. You're… you."
For a second, she looks like she might smile—really smile. But she just nods, softly.
"Okay."
We walk the rest of the way in silence.
And maybe I'm imagining it, but when her hand brushes mine… she pulls away.
Too fast.
And I swear—
I've never missed something I used to have while still standing right next to it before.
Until now.