Damien's POV
It was loud outside. The kind of loud that came with cheap drinks, bad music, and first-year students pretending to forget they had lectures Monday morning.
Luca had gone hours ago, half-shouting something about beer pong and second chances with a girl named Tessa. I told him I wasn't going.
Too tired.
Too busy.
Too not in the mood.
The real reason?
She hadn't texted all day.
Vivienne. Misses-everything. Talks-too-much. Knows-how-I-take-my-damn-coffee Vivienne.
It was stupid to expect her to.
She'd been quiet since Monday. Less clingy. More distant. And even though she still smiled like nothing was wrong — I noticed.
I noticed every time.
And then, just past midnight, the knock came.
A pause. Then the door creaked open without waiting.
She never waited.
Vivienne stepped in wearing an oversized sweatshirt (mine, I realized — when had she stolen that?) and fuzzy socks. A tote bag in one hand. Her hair wild and long and impossible to look away from.
"Hi," she said, like she hadn't ghosted me for twenty-four hours straight.
"What are you doing here?"
"I brought cupcakes," she said, holding up the bag. "And I couldn't sleep. And you didn't come to the party. So... I came here."
I raised an eyebrow. "And Luca?"
"Gone. Drunk. Hooking up, probably."
"Right."
She looked around like she hadn't been in here a hundred times. Then quietly shut the door behind her.
"I missed you, okay?" she blurted suddenly. "And don't say it's dumb. I know it's dumb. But I did. So I came back."
That... did something to me.
Because this wasn't the usual loud Vivienne, chirping and dragging me around campus like a windstorm. This was quieter. Rawer.
More herself.
And damn it, she looked so tired standing there like that — small, soft, fragile.
"I didn't ask you to leave," I said. "Not once."
Her eyes flicked up to mine. "You smiled at her."
"I smile at people sometimes."
"No," she whispered. "You smiled like I didn't exist."
That broke me a little.
I didn't say anything. Just crossed the room, took the bag from her hand, and set it aside. Then I reached up and tugged her closer by the sleeve of her stolen sweatshirt.
"You always exist," I said quietly. "Louder than anything else."
And for the first time all week—
She smiled like she believed me.
---
Vivienne's POV
"You said one episode," Damien said flatly.
"This is one episode," I lied, wrapping both arms around his bicep like a koala and dragging the blanket higher over us. "A really long, beautifully cinematic one."
He stared at the screen, deadpan, as the male lead on Hidden Love did that slow, intense, oh-my-god-he's-about-to-kiss-her look. Again.
I was beaming. Obviously.
Damien was suffering. Also obviously.
But he didn't move.
Didn't shove me away or pretend to go study. He just let me stay there — curled up under his arm, my cheek half against his shoulder, my hair a tangled mess spilling everywhere, and my heart… being stupid.
"I swear I saw you blink at that scene," I teased. "Don't pretend you don't have feelings."
"I blinked because my eyes were dry."
"Liar," I hummed. "He just said 'I liked you first.' Are you telling me that didn't stab you in the soul?"
He was quiet for a beat.
Then, finally, a low mutter: "Maybe."
Victory.
I grinned into his shoulder, feeling way too smug. "You're converting."
"I'm tolerating."
"Mhm. Sure. That's why you're still here and not kicking me out."
Damien didn't reply. His arm tightened a little around me. Not in the possessive way. Not even in the romantic way.
Just… like he liked me here.
I blinked up at him, trying not to make it obvious I was watching him and not the screen. His jaw was relaxed now. Not clenched. His mouth in that neutral almost-smirk it always fell into when he wasn't trying to be cold.
He was still Damien.
Still tall and infuriating and maddeningly calm.
But I saw it — the way his eyes flicked toward me when he thought I wasn't looking.
The way he noticed when I shifted closer.
The way he didn't pull away.
I buried my face against his shoulder, smiling like an idiot.
This wasn't a confession. Or a kiss. Or some dramatic, slow-motion moment under a starry sky.
But it was him. Here. Choosing to stay.
And that… meant more than anything else.
I whispered, "I like you."
Not loud.
Not clear.
Just quietly — like a secret I was still guarding but couldn't stop saying anymore.
I don't know if he heard.
But he didn't let go.