Chapter 3: Why Did You Really Come Over Tonight?

Continued from chapter 2:

“Vivienne, this is the first time we’ve actually talked to each other,” I respond, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement.

“I’ve pretty much had every class with you since middle school, but we’ve never talked before…”

She blinks, seemingly caught off guard by my observation. A flicker of surprise passes across her face before she masks it with practiced indifference.

“Oh. I... I hadn’t realized.”

She fiddles with the rim of her glass, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid inside.

“I suppose I’ve been preoccupied—finals week, college applications… you know how it is.”

A pause. Her fingers trace the condensation on the glass.

“Not that I was ignoring you.”

Chapter 3:

She says it lightly, but there’s a hesitation behind the words. After a beat, she leans forward slightly, lowering her voice.

“You’re not entirely unappealing company, I suppose.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, though it lacks its usual bite.

“And I do enjoy a good scare.”

She glances toward the TV where Scully narrowly avoids Tooms, then back at me, her expression unreadable.

“Vivienne, why did you really come over tonight? I mean, I’m glad you did. I’ve had a crush on you for like ever, and I’m not expecting anything romantically, but I’m... I’m just glad you’re her. I’m glad you’re talking to me, I like it. It’s so easy.”

Her eyes narrow slightly at my confession, a flicker of surprise passing behind her usual mask of indifference. She tilts her head, studying me with the same intensity she reserves for solving complex math problems.

“A crush?” she smirks, though there’s something almost fond about it now.

“Since when do you confess things so easily? You’re right—most people only see the version I let them. The one who never fails, never falters. But you… you were there.”

She pauses, the memory softening the edges of her expression, just barely.

“And I haven’t been able to forget it.”

She shifts closer, just enough that the space between us feels charged but not invaded.

“As for curiosity?” She lifts her drink, letting the ice clink softly against the glass.

“I suppose I’ve been wondering where exactly this path leads. With you, I’m not entirely sure I’d mind finding out.”

“I-I definitely wouldn’t mind finding out. Why did you think you owed me? I was happy to get you out of trouble.”

She sets her drink down, turning to face me fully. Her expression is serious, stripped of its usual sardonic edge.

“Because no one has ever done something like that for me before,” she admits quietly, her gaze dropping to her hands folded in her lap.

“People like me, we don’t get bailed out. We don’t get second chances.”

A bitter laugh escapes her.

“We’re expected to be perfect, to always land on our feet. So when you stepped in like that, without a second thought…”

She trails off, shaking her head slightly.

“It threw me off balance. Made me question things I've always taken for granted.”

Her eyes meet mine, a rare vulnerability shining through.

“Like maybe I’m not as untouchable as I pretend to be. Maybe I need help sometimes, just like anyone else.”

She pauses, then adds with a small, wry smirk,

“But don’t get too comfortable, Ero. This doesn’t mean I’m lowering my standards. It just means… well, I suppose I owe you a movie night.”

“Don’t worry, Vivienne, I won’t...get comfortable…shoot, that was a weird thing to say. Why do you feel the need to be perfect? What happens if you’re not? Do you feel like you have to be perfect here, with me?”

She exhales sharply, almost like she’s shaking off a thought she wasn’t ready to share. Then, with practiced ease, she leans forward slightly, letting her smirk return, but there’s something fragile behind it now.

“Perfection isn’t a choice. It’s a habit. One I’ve spent my whole life cultivating.”

She taps her pen against her notebook, her voice light but edged with something quieter underneath.

“People see me as this… polished thing. Untouchable. Invincible. But let’s be honest—no one’s invincible. Especially not someone who’s built their entire world around pretending they are.”

She glances at me, then quickly looks away, like she caught herself doing something dangerous.

“With you, I don’t have to perform. I don’t have to be the person everyone expects me to be.”

A small, almost imperceptible pause.

“And that terrifies me more than failing a test ever could.”

“I don’t want to terrify you, Vivienne. I just want you to be comfortable being... well, you. I see you, and I... well, I like you just the way you are.”

Her breath catches in her throat at my words, a flicker of emotion passing through her eyes before she can hide it. She opens her mouth as if to respond, then closes it again, seeming to struggle with how to process this new information.

“You... like me?” she finally manages, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

“Just like this? Messy, imperfect, **** me?”

A short, disbelieving laugh escapes her.

“I don’t even know who that is anymore,” she admits quietly, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“But…”

She hesitates, then slowly, tentatively, lifts her chin to meet my eyes.

“Thank you, Ero. For seeing me. For letting me forget, even for a moment, that I’m supposed to be untouchable.”

There’s a pause, and for once, there’s no smirk, no sharpness—just quiet honesty.

“Don’t let this get around,” she adds with a faint ghost of a smile. “I’d lose my reputation.”

“Untouchable... Untouchable how? I guess I don’t understand what that means.”

She sighs, running a hand through her hair in a gesture that seems almost weary.

“Untouchable means… invulnerable. Above reproach. Someone who never shows weakness, never asks for help, never needs anything or anyone.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes filled with a complexity of emotions—frustration, fear, longing.

“It means carrying the weight of everyone’s expectations on your shoulders and never letting it show. It means sacrificing parts of yourself to maintain an image.”

She pauses, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

“It means being alone, even when you’re surrounded by people.”

She shakes her head, a brittle laugh escaping her.

“But I’m tired, Ero. Tired of pretending. Tired of being someone I’m not.”

Her hand brushes past mine on the couch cushion, light but deliberate, before curling around a loose thread in the fabric.

“With you… maybe I don’t have to pretend quite so hard.”

To be continued in chapter 4...