Damien
I never noticed how quiet campus could be when Vivienne isn't being… Vivienne.
No dramatic gasps. No "oh my God, look at that squirrel, he's JOGGING." No loops of her arm through mine like we were born tangled together.
She's walking next to me.
Same girl. Same silky hair. Same scent of peach shampoo.
But not really.
Not today.
She hasn't made a single unnecessary comment in the past twenty minutes. She hasn't ranted about how the espresso machine is "probably run by caffeine-hating robots." She hasn't poked my arm and called me Dr. Doom for ignoring breakfast again.
And I hate it.
I hate how her silence isn't peaceful—just hollow. I hate how she sips that black coffee like she's trying to prove something, even though I know she usually loads it with cream and sprinkles.
I glance at her. She's not pouting. Not smiling. Just… there.
Barely.
She's not upset with me. Not technically.
But I'm not an idiot.
It's about yesterday.
The girl with the glossy ponytail. The one from anatomy class who thought slipping me her number was bold and original.
I didn't flirt. I didn't even respond.
But I also didn't stop it from happening.
Didn't shut it down.
And Viv saw. She felt it. And now here we are—walking together like strangers who just happen to know each other's coffee orders.
God, I miss her.
And she's right here.
I slow down, just slightly. Her steps falter like she thinks I'll tell her to go ahead. I don't. I just look at her.
"Viv."
"Hmm?" she says without looking at me.
"I like your chaos better."
She finally glances up. "What?"
"Your noise. Your glitter. The way you can't stop talking about pigeons wearing business suits."
Her lips twitch, but she doesn't give me the smile. Not yet.
"I'm just trying not to be too much," she says quietly. "Didn't want to embarrass you in front of... people."
People.
Ponytail.
Right.
I stop walking.
"Vivienne."
She stops too. Blinks up at me with those watery amber eyes she tries too hard to pretend don't exist.
"There's no 'too much' when it comes to you," I say. "Not for me."
She swallows.
And just for a second, the sunshine peeks through again. Her hand inches closer to mine. Barely.
But I feel it.
And I swear—I'd rather have her wrapped around my arm complaining about how her glitter pen exploded than walking beside me like this silence is some kind of punishment.
Because it is.
And maybe I deserve it.
But I don't want it anymore.