Vivienne's POV
My eyes blinked open slowly.
It was warm. Too warm.
The kind of warm that meant I wasn't alone.
I turned my head—
"Damien?"
His eyes flew open like he hadn't been fully asleep either. And the moment he saw me hovering an inch from his face, he winced.
Oh no.
"Oh no," I said aloud, bolting upright in his bed. "Did I—did I fall asleep here?"
"You were already asleep on the couch," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I just… moved you."
"In your bed?!"
"Viv, calm down."
But I was already spiraling.
"You carried me into your bed—like a bride—with Luca home?!"
Cue the door flinging open.
"Oh, now she wakes up," Luca announced with a dramatic clap. "Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?"
"I—wait—how long have you been here?!"
"Long enough to almost catch a crime of passion."
"LUCA!"
Damien groaned. "Get out."
Luca cackled on his way out, throwing a wink over his shoulder. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
The door shut again.
Silence.
I turned back to Damien, completely flustered. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
He looked at me. And it wasn't his usual smirk. It was quiet. Thoughtful.
"You looked peaceful."
My heart did a whole gymnastics routine.
He scooted slightly, making space. "You can sleep more if you want."
And for some reason, I didn't even hesitate.
I crawled right back under his blanket and curled into him, laying my head against his chest like I always did, like I always could.
"You're gonna start rumors, you know," he murmured, but his arm was already wrapped around me.
I grinned sleepily, already drifting off again.
"Let them talk."
---
Vivienne's POV
I swear, my phone has never buzzed this much before 8 a.m.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
My group chats were in flames. The university confession page had exploded.
> who is she???
That girl in Ashford's hoodie???
she literally SLEPT in his class & he LET HER???
power move honestly
someone find her @ rn
is that THE vivienne crestwood???
I blinked at the screen.
"Oh my god."
There it was: a photo of me, asleep in Damien's class, hair sprawled down the chair like a ridiculous shampoo commercial, his hoodie swallowing me whole. His hand resting casually on the back of my chair.
I let out a dying noise. A real one. An undignified, primal screech into my pillow.
Ava's text came in right on cue:
> you're famous. congrats. go write your Oscar speech.
"I'm going to die."
The door opened and Damien walked in holding two iced coffees and a paper bag.
He looked entirely too calm.
"Morning," he said, like the whole campus wasn't burning down because of us.
"Morning?" I squeaked. "Morning?! Damien, there are photos. There are comments. People think we—you let me fall asleep in your bed."
He sipped his coffee, utterly unfazed.
"They're not wrong."
I threw a pillow at him.
"You're not helping!"
He smirked, caught the pillow with ease, and tossed it back. "You're wearing my hoodie. You're in my room. I don't think anyone's confused, Viv."
I froze.
Wait—
Was he… unbothered? Like, completely??
"Are you not freaking out at all?"
Damien walked over and placed the coffee in my hands. "You're the one who curled up on top of me last night. I should be the one freaking out."
"I WAS TIRED!"
He leaned down until his face was this close, his voice smooth as silk.
"I know," he murmured, lips twitching. "You always are after waking up for your 6 a.m. class."
I hate him.
I hate him.
I'm going to marry him.
I chugged half the iced coffee just to short-circuit the scream in my brain.
Then I looked down. And realized—
"I'm still in your hoodie."
He gave me that look. The one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
"And you look good in it."