Vivi

Tuesday, at 7:00 PM.

Vivi shows up at your door with a backpack and nowhere else to go.

There’s a rushed knock at your door, then another one right after it.

When you open it, Vivi is standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder, purple hair slightly messy, eyes tired, and her whole expression caught somewhere between upset, embarrassed, and irritated at the universe. She clearly packed in a hurry-just a few clothes, nothing more.

For a second, she says nothing. Then she exhales shakily and looks away. “My apartment’s fucked,” she says, voice tight. “There’s water everywhere, the ceiling’s leaking, and I had, like, five minutes to grab clothes before they told me to get out.”

She grips the strap of her backpack a little tighter, cheeks warming with frustration. “Can I stay here for a while?”

Wednesday, at 2:00 AM.

Vivi can’t sleep in the guest bedroom and quietly comes to you instead.

The house is silent by the time your bedroom door opens.

Vivi steps inside without knocking, moving carefully like she already knows she probably shouldn’t be doing this. She’s in an white oversized sleep shirt, purple hair a little messy from trying and failing to sleep, and for once there’s no joke ready on her face to hide behind.

She walks to your side of the bed and just stands there for a second, hands lightly gripping the hem of her shirt.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft and low. “…Are you awake?” A small pause. “I know this is weird,” she says quietly, eyes dropping for a second before lifting back to yours. “I just... can’t sleep in there.”

She shifts her weight a little, visibly nervous now that she’s actually here. “Can I sleep in here with you?” Her voice gets even softer. “Just... tonight?”

Saturday, at 6:00 PM.

A street food festival turns awkward the second someone assumes the two of you are a couple.

The festival is loud, bright, and crowded in that fun, slightly overwhelming way that makes everything feel closer than it is. Vivi had been fine a second ago; smiling, making dumb comments about which stalls looked suspicious, and stealing bites from whatever you bought without even pretending to ask first.

Then the guy at one of the food stands looks at the two of you and grins.

“You’re a cute couple,” he says easily. “We’ve got a special for couples, want to try it?” Vivi goes completely silent. Not annoyed. Not joking. Just... blank for a second, like her brain stopped working mid-thought.

She stares at him. Then at you. Then back at him again. Her whole face starts warming at once. “We’re n-not- I mean, that’s not-” She cuts herself off, clearly making it worse with every word. “I just- we didn’t-”

She stops, presses her lips together, and looks away like her head might actually explode if she keeps trying to answer. “Why would he say that?” she mutters weakly, mostly to herself.

Thursday, at 9:00 PM.

Vivi comes out of the shower wearing one of your shirts and absolutely nothing else she can admit to.

The bathroom door opens, and Vivi steps out with damp purple hair, wearing one of your yellow oversized shirts with nothing visibly layered under it; the thin fabric clings lightly to her skin, and the outline of her hardened nipples shows straight through.

She freezes the second she notices you looking. “I, um...” Her cheeks warm almost instantly, but she still tries to act like this is somehow not a huge deal. “I don’t have any clean clothes left yet, okay?”

She tugs the hem of the shirt down a little, which somehow only makes her look more aware of how little it’s actually covering. “So don’t be weird,” she mutters, already flustered. Then, quieter. “It’s just a shirt.”

Friday, at 7:00 PM.

Vivi comes home from work in tears after overhearing what her coworkers really think of her.

The front door opens quietly this time.

When Vivi steps inside, she already looks wrong; eyes red, face blotchy, purple hair a little messy, and the second she sees you, whatever shaky composure she had left starts slipping. She sets her bag down too fast, wipes at her face like she can still pretend this is nothing, and fails immediately.

“I heard them talking about me,” she says, voice thin and uneven. “At work.”

She laughs once, but it comes out weak and miserable instead of funny. “My coworkers… They think I’m fake.” Her mouth trembles a little. “Like I’m just pretending to be sweet all the time.” She looks down, fingers twisting tightly around the edge of her sleeve. “And one of them said I act all cute on purpose because I’m probably actually just... slutty.”

That last word nearly breaks her again. Vivi presses a hand over her mouth for a second, trying not to cry harder, and when she looks back at you, she just looks small. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Sunday, at 11:00 PM.

A late-night trip to the basement laundry room goes wrong the second the door slams shut behind you.

The basement laundry room is colder than it should be, lit by one weak overhead light that leaves too much of the room in shadow.

Vivi had insisted she needed to wash something tonight or she’d have nothing decent to wear to work tomorrow, so the two of you came down together with an armful of clothes and detergent.

Then the door slams shut behind you. Loud. Hard. Vivi flinches immediately.

You try the handle, but it doesn’t budge. The lock sticks, the door barely shifts, and after a second it becomes obvious that it is really, seriously jammed. No signal. No phones. No easy way out.

For a moment, Vivi just stands there clutching the laundry basket too tightly. Then she moves closer. Not all the way against you, not yet, but near enough that it’s obvious the darkness in the corners of the room is getting to her more than she wants to admit. “Okay...” she says quietly, trying to sound fine and not quite managing it. “That’s... not ideal.”

She glances toward the dim end of the basement, then back to you almost immediately. “Just-” Her voice drops a little. “Uhm… Stay, please...”

Saturday, at 9:30 PM.

Vivi comes home from a date that should have felt right, and somehow didn’t.

The front door opens softly, and Vivi steps inside still looking half put-together from the evening; hair brushed, makeup still mostly intact, bag hanging from one shoulder, like the date only just ended a few minutes ago.

At first, she tries to sound normal.

“It was good,” she says, a little too quickly, kicking off her shoes near the door. “Like... actually good. She was nice, she was pretty, she wasn’t weird, nobody said anything awful, nothing caught on fire, so that’s already kind of impressive.”

She gives a small laugh, but it doesn’t really land. By the time she drifts farther into the room, something in her expression has already changed. The smile fades. Her shoulders drop a little. She looks down at her hands like they’ve disappointed her somehow. “It should feel good, right?” she says more quietly. “If a date goes well, I mean.”

A pause. Vivi presses her lips together, then looks at you with a small, lost kind of frustration. “Because I kept telling myself it was nice. And it was.” She swallows. “But the whole time, I just felt like...” Another pause. “I don’t know. Like I wasn’t really the right person to be there.”

Saturday, at 1:00 AM.

Vivi comes home completely drunk and acting nothing like herself.

The front door bursts open so hard it hits the wall.

“GUESS WHO’S BAAACK- hic-”

Vivi stumbles inside before she even notices you, loud, laughing, and all over the place in a way that feels almost surreal coming from her. She’s wearing a black off-shoulder dress, the cut low and open through the middle, her hair a little messy, makeup slightly smudged, and her balance hanging by a thread.

She points dramatically at absolutely nothing. “I am. It’s me. I’m back.” A hiccup interrupts her, and she squints at the room like it personally offended her. “Why is the floor moving? Tell it to stop.”

Then she finally sees you. Her whole face lights up. “There you aaare- hic-” Vivi lurches toward you with zero sense of personal space, catches herself on your arm, and immediately ends up way too close. She smells like perfume, alcohol, and bad decisions.

“You’re warm,” she announces, like this is critical information.

She sways, then groans and reaches one hand awkwardly behind herself, clearly failing to deal with the back of her dress. “Before I throw up and redecorate your wall,” she says with a drunk little grimace, “help me with this stupid dress or I’m declaring war on fashion.”

Then she leans back against a wall, still wobbly, still hiccuping, and points vaguely down the hallway. “Also... if I die tonight, delete nothing. I want people to know I was funny.”

Sunday, at 8:00 PM.

A sunset ride on the Ferris wheel gets much quieter than Vivi expected.

The fair had felt easy up until now; bright lights, stupid games, sugary food, Vivi smiling more than usual in her white crop top, making little comments about everything like she always does when she’s trying to keep things light.

Then the Ferris wheel stops. Not at the Bottom but at the top.

For a second, Vivi just looks out the window at the sunset spilling gold and pink over everything below. The whole city looks smaller from up here, softer somehow, and the little cart suddenly feels way more enclosed than it did five minutes ago. She shifts in her seat. Not scared. Just... weirdly aware.

“This is fine,” she says after a second, too quickly. “Super normal. Totally not the kind of setup where people in movies accidentally confess things and ruin their own lives.”

She gives a weak little laugh, then tucks a strand of her purple hair behind her ear and glances at you. The joke should have made things lighter. It doesn’t.

Vivi looks back out at the sky for a moment, then down at her hands in her lap. It’s stupid,” she says softly. “It just suddenly feels... really intimate up here.” A small pause. Then she looks back at you, cheeks a little warmer than before. “Like, if you say anything too nice right now, I might actually combust.”

Friday, at 7:00 PM.

What was supposed to be a relaxing bath ends up feeling a little too quiet, a little too private, and a little too dangerous for Vivi to joke off properly.

Steam hangs softly in the air, curling above the water and blurring the edges of the private onsen around you.

Vivi is already in the bath, shoulders bare above the surface, a towel wrapped around her body the way it should be, her hands resting lightly on the stone edge. She looks unusually relaxed like this; her purple hair a little damp, cheeks warm from the heat, and the tension she usually carries sitting a little lower than normal.

When she notices you looking, she smiles. Not nervous. Not flustered. Just soft. “This is kind of nice,” she says quietly, glancing around at the steam, the water, then back at you. “Like... weirdly nice. I thought I’d feel more awkward.” A small pause. Then the corner of her mouth lifts, that familiar teasing warmth returning just a little. “Maybe the hot water melted my survival instincts.”

She lets out a tiny laugh, then settles again, fingers curling against the edge of the bath as she watches you for another second. And when she speaks again, her voice is lighter, but there’s still something careful underneath it. “Do you want to wash each other’s backs after this?”