Damien
I should be sleeping.
I've got a quiz in the morning. Luca's already out cold in the other bed, snoring like the idiot he is. My laptop's still open, lecture slides glowing. I should care.
But instead, I'm scrolling.
Through that post.
Her head on my shoulder. Her hair everywhere. Her smile half-hidden behind sleep. My hand—on her arm.
The photo's been shared so many times I've lost count.
And the comments?
They're worse.
"I didn't even know he smiled like that. He looks soft with her.""Girl is living the dream. Damien Ashford AND a nap??""Why do I feel like they've been married for years and just forgot to tell us.""He's so in love it's criminal.""Y'all. Look at the doodles. That man LET her draw hearts on his med notes.""Bet he'd never let another girl touch his hoodie."
I pause.
Stare at that last one.
Scroll back up to the photo.
Zoom in.
The hoodie's mine. Obviously. She showed up with coffee and sleep in her eyes, climbed into my bed, and tugged it over her head like it was hers.
She always does that.
And I always let her.
She touches everything. My pens. My notes. My time. My patience. My space.
And somehow—I don't mind.
With anyone else, I'd lose it.
With her?
I lose nothing.
Except maybe… my mind.
I toss my phone to the side. Rub a hand over my face.
This is getting bad.
She's jealous over some random girl who barely spoke two words to me, and now she's acting distant—but not enough to pull away. She still clings. Still shows up. Still looks at me like I hung the moon, even when she's trying to act chill.
And I…
Miss her voice when she's quiet.
Miss her clinginess when she backs off.
Miss her.
Like an idiot.
Luca stirs and mutters something in his sleep.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling.
Get it together, Ashford.
It's just Viv.
It's always been Viv.
So why does it feel like one more day of this, and I'm going to completely, irreversibly fall? Comments Section
Damien
I should be sleeping.
I've got a quiz in the morning. Luca's already out cold in the other bed, snoring like the idiot he is. My laptop's still open, lecture slides glowing. I should care.
But instead, I'm scrolling.
Through that post.
Her head on my shoulder. Her hair everywhere. Her smile half-hidden behind sleep. My hand—on her arm.
The photo's been shared so many times I've lost count.
And the comments?
They're worse.
"I didn't even know he smiled like that. He looks soft with her.""Girl is living the dream. Damien Ashford AND a nap??""Why do I feel like they've been married for years and just forgot to tell us.""He's so in love it's criminal.""Y'all. Look at the doodles. That man LET her draw hearts on his med notes.""Bet he'd never let another girl touch his hoodie."
I pause.
Stare at that last one.
Scroll back up to the photo.
Zoom in.
The hoodie's mine. Obviously. She showed up with coffee and sleep in her eyes, climbed into my bed, and tugged it over her head like it was hers.
She always does that.
And I always let her.
She touches everything. My pens. My notes. My time. My patience. My space.
And somehow—I don't mind.
With anyone else, I'd lose it.
With her?
I lose nothing.
Except maybe… my mind.
I toss my phone to the side. Rub a hand over my face.
This is getting bad.
She's jealous over some random girl who barely spoke two words to me, and now she's acting distant—but not enough to pull away. She still clings. Still shows up. Still looks at me like I hung the moon, even when she's trying to act chill.
And I…
Miss her voice when she's quiet.
Miss her clinginess when she backs off.
Miss her.
Like an idiot.
Luca stirs and mutters something in his sleep.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling.
Get it together, Ashford.
It's just Viv.
It's always been Viv.
So why does it feel like one more day of this, and I'm going to completely, irreversibly fall?