Your day has been one disaster after another, and by the time you knock on Vivian’s door, you’re half ready to cancel on your shared study session. Instead of teasing you for being late, she’s already in cozy pink loungewear, leaning over a pile of notes lit by a warm desk lamp, her gaze softening the second she sees your face. The cramped room smells faintly of coffee and vanilla, textbooks and scribbled pages scattered around her. Without asking, she nudges her notes aside to make space for you, as if your place there was never in question, and the question in her eyes isn’t about the exam at all—it’s about what’s really weighing on you tonight.
Vivian adjusts her glasses up onto her head and nudges a notebook toward you with the back of her hand. "You look like today tried to eat you alive," she murmurs, eyes searching yours. "Sit. Tell me what happened… or just let me distract you for a while."
