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*
Down the quad, a wolf-whistle carries.
"I object!"
Elle wags scoldingly, and Vivian guesses she's frowning behind her designer-made, sparkly sequin pink face mask. As soon as she spots Vivian waiting in the grass, holding her bag, the corners of Ellie's eyes squint. Oh, yes, definitely now she's grinning—
"Viv!" Elle chirps, and it's more of a high-pitched squeak than a voice.
She throws up her arms in excitement, rushing for a hug, and then stops herself, arms dropping. Remembering why she can't.
Vivian smiles sympathetically.
"How are you feeling, Elle? What did the nurse say this time?"
"I can't be in the Wyeth House yet." Elle makes a frustrated shrug, sliding on her transparently pink and heart-shaped sunglasses. "It's only a virus… but I'm probably contagious for another twenty-four hours. Ohh! I hate this! I miss you sooooooo much!"
Vivian shyly ducks her head, biting her lower lip. "Miss you too…"
Not far off, David Kidney curiously glances toward them.
"When I can hug you again, I'm gonna hug you until you burst! I promise!"
*
"So… I heard you're dating Elle Woods."
"Huh?" Vivian mumbles. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. God, her hand feels lighter without Warner's shitty six carat 'Harry Winston' engagement ring. It doesn't matter that the ring belonged to his dead and deeply beloved grandma.
Enid Wexler snorts. "Admit it. Practically everyone on campus suspects it's happening."
"Then how about everyone—" Vivian barks, gathering her textbook, "—gets a life and stop spreading rumors—she's my best friend—"
"Is that so? Well, for your information… it makes for a better romantic relationship if you're friends first," Enid interrupts, nodding sagely. Vivian rolls her eyes. "I'm not judging. I swear. I just wondered if you both wanted to join my coalition for Lesbians Against—"
"Not a lesbian, sorry," Vivian breathes, avoiding eye contact.
"But you are crushing on Elle Woods, aren't you?"
Vivian's cheeks redden.
She hurries out of Enid's smirking range.
Dammit.
*
A part of Vivian hates herself. Still.
For being so hostile to Elle before knowing Elle. For letting Warner poison her thoughts. For being the 'frigid bitch' Elle called her.
Elle is…
One of the best people in the world to be in it.
(Despite Elle's craze with materialistic and superficial garbage. Like high-end fashion brands. Or pedicures. Or Cosmopolitan magazines.)
"I… I don't know," Vivian says slowly, looking between the sign to Neptune's Beauty Nook and Elle's pout.
She's not very interested in this.
Elle mouths out Vivian's name, encouraging her, tugging their hands.
Unfortunately, Elle's voice got worse. It's basically vanished. She seems less sniffly and sneezy though, cleared to move back into the dormitory, and told to not strain her vocal chords while they're healing. Elle obediently listens, making lists of herbal soothing teas.
"You're a 'cool winter'—that's it. That's all it is. I've got it. You just need more blues, and stuff like lavender and burgundy in your wardrobe," Elle babbles, a week before catching her virus. She tosses suitcases out of her closet. "It compliments your skin tone—goodness, and oranges in this coral lipstick you're wearing doesn't," Ellie says hastily, rubbing it off Vivian's mouth with the edge of her thumb, and her heart skips.
Vivian tuts, apologizing and guiding a disheartened Elle back to the car.
"Let's go back. You can… give me your own makeover."
Elle's face lights up.
*
Paulette's husband delivers another bouquet of fresh red roses to their joint-apartment. Vivian counts at least twenty-two.
"Must be nice to be popular," Vivian monotones, setting down the twenty-third (and hopefully the last) bouquet.
Elle motions for her to come back, pushing down on Vivian's turquoise silk-robed shoulders and forcing her to sit. She runs a hairbrush into Vivian's dark hair, over and over, easing the smallest knots. Vivian tries her best to relax, sighing, occasionally wiggling.
The fluffy pink hairbrush smartly raps the top of Vivian's head, indicating to quit moving.
"What? Should I not breathe either?" Vivian asks, looking up and smilingly cocking an eyebrow when Elle huffs adorably.
This time, Elle's fingers coil into her hair, pulling slightly.
Not enough to hurt, but—shit, shit—
Vivian stiffens, confused by the twinge of arousal deep in her belly. Elle doesn't notice.
With all of the red roses, it would be perfect for a—a bed of petals illuminated in candlelight, and Elle's pink silk robe falling off her, and a little sip of champagne. Right before—god, Vivian can clearly see it. Kneeling over Elle, helping adjust the pillows situated under Elle's hips tilting upwards, leaning down for little, affectionate kisses on Elle's naked, soft pelvis before using tongue, lathing her folds—
"Yeah, I'm fine," Vivian mutters, feeling Elle's concerned squeeze on her arm. "Fine."
After a silent (and heart-pounding) moment, she feels heat.
Elle purposely holds a kiss against Vivian's head, for another moment too long, right before she goes back to brushing. As if it didn't happen. At all. Vivian swallows hard, torn between getting up and out of Elle's sparkling pink, pink, pink bedroom and melting away.
She does neither.
*
"Viv…"
Within view of David Kidney, Harvard Law School's resident campus photographer and gossiper, she makes a decision.
Elle's cheeks pinken.
Her lips…
"This might ruin the roommate thing, I know, just… do you think we could date?" Vivian says quickly, bashful when Elle giggles gleefully.
"I do."
*