Vivienne
My classes ended an hour ago.
Normal girls would go back to their dorms, nap, scroll, paint their nails, flirt with that guy from poli-sci who definitely likes them back.
Me?
I'm not normal girls.
I'm Vivienne Crestwood, and my favorite extracurricular activity is irritating Damien Ashford while he's trying to study.
Also known as: keeping him company in Advanced Human Anatomy, which I'm not even enrolled in.
I slide into the lecture hall like a whisper of perfume and trouble. Spot him instantly.
Front row. Center. Of course.
The moment I spot the back of his head, a smile creeps onto my face. My heels click softly across the marble floor as I head straight for the seat next to him, ignoring every wide-eyed stare I collect on the way.
"Oh my god," someone whispers.
"She's here again?"
"They're not even dating?"
"Are you sure? They act like it."
I sit down beside him, like I was born to.
He doesn't look up. But I see the corner of his mouth twitch.
Victory.
I lean in, drape my arms over his like a clingy octopus in Chanel. "Miss me?"
"Lecture starts in two minutes," he murmurs without looking at me.
"That's not a no."
He finally turns. Looks at me like I'm both his headache and his home.
"You're not even in this class, Viv."
I smile sweetly. "So? I like watching you be smart."
He blinks at me.
"Also," I add casually, "your roommate was giving me weird energy again. Figured I'd come be your clingy little shield."
Damien's eyes narrow. "He said something?"
"Nope," I chirp. "Just gave me the kind of look that makes me want to carry pepper spray in my diamond-studded clutch."
His jaw ticks.
I grin and poke his arm. "Relax, Damien. No one's touching me. They know I'm yours."
A beat of silence.
Then he mutters, "You're not mine."
I gasp, placing a dramatic hand to my heart. "Ouch."
Another whisper from behind us:
"Did you hear that?"
"Vivienne Crestwood literally said she's his."
"She acts like it. The way she clings to him? Insane."
"I heard they grew up together. Like, since diapers."
"I'd cry if a girl like her looked at me like that…"
I hear it all.
And I let them hear me giggle as I lean my head on Damien's shoulder, completely unbothered.
He sighs, doesn't move away. His arm shifts slightly under mine, more comfortable now. As if—God forbid—he likes it.
"You're going to get me kicked out of class one day," he says.
"Bold of you to assume I'll wait that long," I murmur, smiling into his hoodie.
A flash of movement catches my eye—someone across the room, definitely filming us on their phone.
"Are we trending again?" I ask.
Damien doesn't answer. Just mutters under his breath, "Someone's going to die."
I sit up, beam at him, and whisper, "Aww. That almost sounded like you care."
He looks at me sideways, face unreadable. "You're impossible."
"And yet," I say, leaning closer again, "here I am."
And when the professor finally walks in and starts speaking, I stay where I am—curled into Damien like a living blanket, not giving a single damn that the whole lecture hall probably thinks I'm marked property.
Because honestly?
Maybe I am.