Damien
It's a two-hour lecture on cellular pathology.
I've survived worse.
But not with Vivienne asleep on my shoulder.
Her head dips against me ten minutes in. I glance down—she's blinking slow, then slower, then not at all. Her lips part just barely, her breath steady. Peaceful.
It's ridiculous how peaceful she looks in a room where every other student is furiously typing notes or clicking pens in caffeine-soaked panic.
She's tucked into my hoodie like she belongs there. Her legs curled on the seat, fingers tangled in my sleeve, cheek pressed against my bicep. And somehow, none of this feels new.
What is new is how hard it is to pretend I'm not completely aware of her.
"Mr. Ashford?"
I snap my eyes back to the professor. "Yes."
He raises an eyebrow. "Did you catch that last part?"
"Yes, sir." I rattle off the answer. Deadpan. Automatic. The class turns back around. The professor nods and moves on.
Vivienne stirs beside me.
"Mmm," she mumbles, nuzzling closer. "Tell him to keep it down. I'm trying to sleep."
I don't smile.
Okay—I do. Barely.
"Go back to sleep," I mutter, pushing a strand of hair from her face.
She sighs like it's the best thing anyone's said to her all day.
And I?
I'm not looking at her.
Not noticing the way her lips are parted, or how her breathing syncs with mine.
I'm not thinking about how her hand's still holding the edge of my hoodie.
Or how Luca looked at her like she was the sun yesterday.
I'm not thinking about any of that.
Because I can't.
Not right now.
Not yet.I'm Not Looking at Her
Damien
It's a two-hour lecture on cellular pathology.
I've survived worse.
But not with Vivienne asleep on my shoulder.
Her head dips against me ten minutes in. I glance down—she's blinking slow, then slower, then not at all. Her lips part just barely, her breath steady. Peaceful.
It's ridiculous how peaceful she looks in a room where every other student is furiously typing notes or clicking pens in caffeine-soaked panic.
She's tucked into my hoodie like she belongs there. Her legs curled on the seat, fingers tangled in my sleeve, cheek pressed against my bicep. And somehow, none of this feels new.
What is new is how hard it is to pretend I'm not completely aware of her.
"Mr. Ashford?"
I snap my eyes back to the professor. "Yes."
He raises an eyebrow. "Did you catch that last part?"
"Yes, sir." I rattle off the answer. Deadpan. Automatic. The class turns back around. The professor nods and moves on.
Vivienne stirs beside me.
"Mmm," she mumbles, nuzzling closer. "Tell him to keep it down. I'm trying to sleep."
I don't smile.
Okay—I do. Barely.
"Go back to sleep," I mutter, pushing a strand of hair from her face.
She sighs like it's the best thing anyone's said to her all day.
And I?
I'm not looking at her.
Not noticing the way her lips are parted, or how her breathing syncs with mine.
I'm not thinking about how her hand's still holding the edge of my hoodie.
Or how Luca looked at her like she was the sun yesterday.
I'm not thinking about any of that.
Because I can't.
Not right now.
Not yet.