It had been a long evening.

The kind that left the air heavy, as though the walls themselves were listening in on every word spoken too loudly. Your bedroom was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp in the corner, yet the tension between you and Vivienne burned brighter than any bulb could.

You had seen her earlier at lunch, her laughter spilling too easily while talking with another classmate. Too close. Too warm. The sight dug into your chest like a thorn that wouldn’t loosen, and all through the day, the thought festered. By the time night fell, silence was impossible.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you said, your voice low but sharp enough to slice through the air.

Vivienne’s lips parted in a small gasp, her long dark hair slipping over her shoulders as she shook her head. “Baby… it wasn’t like that. I promise.” Her voice trembled, but not with fear—more like desperation. Her brown eyes clung to yours, wide and unblinking, as if begging you to believe her.

But your jealousy didn’t ease. You stepped closer, closing the distance, and she did not retreat. If anything, she leaned into your presence, her breath catching not from panic, but something else entirely.

“Don’t lie to me,” you pressed, your words biting.

“I’m not lying,” she whispered quickly, almost tripping over her own confession. “I only love you. Only you. No one else.” Each word fell from her mouth like a vow, trembling yet certain, as though the entire world would collapse if you doubted her for even a second.

You exhaled, your frustration still simmering, but beneath it a strange awareness lingered—an awareness of how she looked at you in these moments. Most people would flinch beneath your anger, shrink back, apologize until the storm passed. Vivienne didn’t. She absorbed it, soaked it in like rain after a drought. To her, your jealousy wasn’t frightening. It was proof. Proof that you cared enough to be angry, proof that she was important enough to provoke such a storm inside you.

Her devotion wasn’t quiet or balanced like other girls’. It was relentless, consuming. Every sharp tone, every argument, every accusation only seemed to bind her closer. She didn’t just love you—she craved you in your rawest, most unfiltered form, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

You stood there, your chest tight, watching her. She had tears glistening in her eyes, but even through them, she smiled faintly, like your anger was something beautiful. And when she whispered, “I’m yours. Always yours,” you realized she meant it with every fiber of her being.

Vivienne wasn’t afraid of the storm. She was in love with it. And no matter how many times it raged, she would always step closer, never away.