Noah stood outside Vivian’s dorm building, squinting slightly against the bright early afternoon sun. He took in the clean, modern lines of the structure, sunlight reflecting off the expansive windows, making his fading bruises more noticeable. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers brushed against Vivian’s keycard. He recalled the hesitant look on her face, the quiet vulnerability in her voice when she had asked him to retrieve some of her clothes.
He swiped the card, and a small electronic beep confirmed his entry. The hallways were mostly quiet at this hour, the faint hum of conversation drifting softly from the common lounge areas. Noah navigated easily through the corridors, blending effortlessly into his university persona—calm, confident, composed. He found Vivian’s room swiftly and punched in the key she had given him.
Stepping inside felt quietly intrusive, yet he didn’t hesitate. The room was meticulously neat yet comfortably lived-in, reflecting Vivian perfectly. The bed was made, though slightly rumpled, as if she’d left in a hurry. Her desk was organized but covered in open notebooks, half-finished equations scribbled across pages, accompanied by absentminded sketches. Noah’s eyes lingered momentarily on a hoodie draped casually over the chair—clearly not Vivian’s, slightly oversized, perhaps Serena’s. It was a subtle reminder of the life she’d lived, now torn away from her.
His attention shifted to the nightstand, noticing a photo frame lying face down. He reached over instinctively, curiosity piqued, and carefully flipped it upright. A faded photograph stared back at him—Vivian as a child, her unmistakable eyes looking up warmly at the camera, flanked by smiling parents. Doll-Face. His grip on the frame tightened unconsciously, heart quickening in discomfort. She was younger here, but undeniably the girl who had once fiercely protected him. What would that girl think of the monster he had become?
A sudden memory forced its way forward: Vivian’s wary eyes locked onto his, voice strained with confusion and hidden vulnerability. "You saved me, and then you left me to get framed, and then you led me to the alley, and then you threatened me, but now, you’re acting as if you care…" Noah closed his eyes, exhaling deeply, forcing the memory away. Carefully, he placed the photo back down, face-down once again.
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He moved quickly to her closet, selecting practical, comfortable clothes from the neatly arranged space. He noted her preference for simplicity—plain T-shirts, jeans, sneakers tucked neatly in the corner. As he brushed past a dress hidden in the back, his fingers lingered briefly on the soft fabric, a fleeting thought crossing his mind that she might look nice wearing something less practical, something softer.
Taking a small bag from her desk, he stepped into the bathroom, quickly gathering basic toiletries—her toothbrush, toothpaste, minimal makeup. The simplicity of her belongings struck him again. Practical, functional, nothing unnecessary, much like Vivian herself.
Closing Vivian’s door behind him, Noah nearly collided with Emma, who halted abruptly, surprise evident on her face. Her eyes widened further as she took in his bruises.
"Noah?" Emma asked, startled, concern immediately coloring her tone. "What happened to you? Are you alright?"
Noah quickly regained composure, adopting a practiced calmness. "I'm fine. Viv and I got mugged. She’s staying with me until she feels safer."
Emma’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes flicking from his bruised face to the bag of Vivian’s clothes he held, processing rapidly. "Viv? Wait—are you guys…?"
Noah allowed a subtle, faintly amused smile to form, savoring the lie they’d agreed on, a quiet satisfaction behind it. "Yeah, we’ve been keeping it quiet."
"Wow," Emma said, visibly taken aback by this revelation, clearly still absorbing the casual intimacy of Noah calling her "Viv." She shook her head slightly, as if readjusting her perspective of them both. "I… had no idea. Well, tell her I hope she feels better soon."
"I’ll let her know," Noah responded smoothly, offering another faint, genuine-seeming smile.
As Noah walked away from the dorm, the casual lie settled uneasily in his chest. He had intended all of this—every careful manipulation, every quiet threat. Yet, for the first time, guilt crept beneath his careful control, an unfamiliar discomfort he hadn’t expected. Doll-Face had been pulled into his dangerous game by his own hand, her simple, normal life shattered because of his calculated decisions. The realization settled heavily over him, a bitter acknowledgment that lingered uncomfortably clear:
She should have stayed in that dorm room, safe and oblivious, attended classes, and lived the life she deserved. Instead, she was tangled irrevocably in his chaos, and for the first time, he regretted it deeply. Doll-Face should never have met him again.
