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MidReal Story
Hidden Crush
Scenario:vivienne lennox met xavier crowell during her first semester of college. same major, same intro class, same professor who loved pairing students up for projects. from the start, he rubbed her the wrong way — not because he was mean or loud, but because he was quiet, sharp, annoyingly good at everything, and never hesitated to correct her when she was wrong. he had this way of looking at her like he was always one step ahead, like her presence was a challenge he wasn’t afraid to take on.
it was never friendly between them two. there were always sarcastic comments, subtle jabs, passive-aggressive group chats during projects. they both got under each other’s skin without even trying. he made her feel competitive, off-balance, seen in a way that wasn’t comfortable. and she hated the fact that part of her started looking forward to it.
things shifted during a party last spring — one of those overcrowded, too-loud dorm things where everyone was drunk off cheap vodka and impulsive decisions. vivi ended up there by accident, friends dragging her along. she and xavier had been arguing earlier that day in class — something stupid, something small — and maybe that tension had been simmering longer than either of them realized.
she ran into him outside, behind the building, both of them trying to escape the noise. she doesn’t remember who kissed who first. maybe it didn’t matter. it was desperate, messy, angry. they told themselves it was a one-time thing. it wasn’t.
since then, it’s been… complicated. they don’t talk about it. they barely acknowledge it. but somehow, they keep ending up alone together. in library corners. after late lectures. at his apartment when her roommates are home and she can’t sleep. it’s always fast and quiet and hidden — like a secret neither of them want to admit exists.
xavier still gets on vivi's nerves. still acts like he’s smarter, cooler, better. but sometimes he looks at her when he thinks she won’t notice. like there’s something he wants to say and doesn’t know how. she doesn’t bring it up. neither does he.
to everyone else, they’re just academic rivals. nothing more.
but her skin remembers him. and his hoodie still smells like her.
Create my version of this story
Vivienne Lennox
She is a college student majoring in psychology. She is intelligent, competitive, and impulsive. Vivienne meets Xavier in her psychology class and is drawn to him despite their antagonistic relationship. They have a tumultuous relationship marked by rivalry and secret trysts. Their encounters are often spontaneous and passionate, occurring in hidden corners and abandoned buildings. Vivienne struggles with her attraction to Xavier, who represents both intellectual superiority and physical desire.
Xavier Crowell
He is a college student majoring in psychology. He is intelligent, confident, and intense. Xavier is initially portrayed as a rival to Vivienne in their psychology class, but their animosity gradually turns into a complex, secretive relationship. He excites Vivienne with his intelligence and passion, and their encounters are marked by an almost animalistic intensity. Despite their rivalry, Xavier provides Vivienne with an unexpected source of attraction and comfort.
I met Xavier Crowell the first week of college.
Intro to psych.
Our professor was one of those annoying men who believed everyone loved psych as much as he did.
Which, why, why would anyone schedule a Friday class at eight thirty AM?
It didn’t matter.
We were all there to get our gen ed out of the way, and that included both me and the guy sitting directly to my left.
I didn’t notice him until the professor paired us up for a little exercise.
I turned and looked down into dark eyes—intensely staring at me—and blinked.
"Vivienne."
"Xavier. Nice to meet you."
He didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Likewise."
Our little chat went straight into the land of awkward, and I blamed it on him.
He was quiet and too good at this exercise, which made me look like a slacker by comparison.
But I was not a slacker, and I was better than this guy.
So I upped my game, argued back against his points, and watched him up his own game in return.
By the time we were done, I was annoyed and impressed in equal measures.
And when our professor asked us to share our findings with the class, Xavier took over completely, barely letting me get a word in edgewise.
I grip my pen tighter, watching him.
He’s explaining our findings about cognitive biases, and he makes it sound like he did all the work.
My jaw clenches.
He glosses over the counterpoints I raised, and the professor nods along like Xavier is the second coming of Freud.
When Xavier pauses to check his notes, I see my opening.
Without waiting for him to start talking again, I cut in.
"There’s another interpretation we came up with."
Xavier’s head snaps toward me, his dark eyes narrowing.
The rest of the class shifts in their seats, sensing the tension.
I keep talking, my voice steady despite my heart racing in my chest.
"We argued that there could be a third reason why the subject made that decision. It wasn’t necessarily a bias at all; it was simply an alternative interpretation of the facts presented."
Xavier opens his mouth to interrupt, but I don’t let him.
I grip the edges of my notebook tighter, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the professor.
Xavier shifts beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine as he takes a half-step back.
The touch sends an electric jolt through me, but I push past it.
"Cognitive biases can sometimes protect us from uncomfortable truths," I explain.
"We found that in certain cases, the subject’s decision was actually a rational response to the information they were given."
My voice grows steadier with each word.
I can feel Xavier’s eyes on the side of my face, but I don’t let myself look at him.
Instead, I focus on Professor Chen, who’s watching me with a thoughtful expression.
"We also found some evidence to support this theory in a study published last year," I continue.
"It suggests that our brains are capable of processing information in multiple ways, and that sometimes what looks like a bias is actually a more nuanced understanding of the situation."
I hear Xavier suck in a breath beside me.
"Interesting perspective," Professor Chen says, nodding slowly.
Xavier leans in, his voice low but clear, "I didn’t think you’d bring that up."
I meet his gaze, a challenge in my eyes. "I didn’t think you’d leave it out."
When the class is over, I get up and head into the hallway, but I don’t make it far before I hear footsteps behind me.
Quick, purposeful steps.
I speed up, but Xavier catches up to me near the water fountain.
He grabs my arm, pulling me aside.
"That study you mentioned," he says through gritted teeth.
"It was flawed. The sample size was too small."
I yank my arm free, and his fingers leave warm imprints on my skin.
"You’re just mad I brought it up first," I snap back, stepping closer to him.
His jaw tightens as he looks down at me.
I can see the muscles working in his neck as he swallows.
Then he takes a deep breath, and his shoulders relax slightly.
The tension between us crackles like electricity, but neither of us backs down.
Other students stream past us, heading to their next classes or the cafeteria or wherever else they need to be.
But Xavier and I stand there, locked in our own little world. "Look," he says finally, sighing frustratedly.
"I didn’t mean to cut you off back there. It’s just that I know a lot about this stuff."
I blink at him, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Wait, what?"
"I’m sorry," he says, his voice softer now.
"I shouldn’t have talked over you like that."
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.
Did Xavier Crowell just apologize to me?
Xavier Crowell never apologizes to anyone.
He doesn’t even acknowledge when he’s wrong.
But here he is, looking down at me with those dark eyes and actually saying the words.
"I…"
I can’t think of anything to say, so I just turn and storm off down the hall.
Xavier follows me, but I don’t look back until I’m standing outside the lecture hall where we had our first project meeting.
The room is empty now, the chairs stacked haphazardly in the corner.
I whirl around to face him.
"What was that?"
I demand.
"You don’t apologize. You never apologize."
He takes a step toward me, his jaw clenched again.
"I didn’t mean it," he says through gritted teeth.
"I was just caught off guard."
"So you’re saying you lied?"
His eyes flash with anger, and for a moment I think he might actually yell at me.
But then he takes a deep breath and seems to regain control of himself. "Look," he says again, his voice calmer now.
"It’s not a big deal. Let’s just forget about it, okay?"
"Forget about it?" my voice rises in disbelief.
"You think I can just forget about this? You think I can forget how you talked over me in class and then apologized for it afterwards?"
He steps closer to me, his eyes blazing with intensity.
"Yes," he growls.
"That’s exactly what I think. Now stop being so dramatic and let’s move on."
"Dramatic?" my voice goes up another octave as I glare at him.
"How dare you!"
"You’re overreacting," he snaps back, his face inches from mine now.
"And you know it."
"Overreacting? You have no idea what you’re talking about!"
We’re both yelling now, our voices echoing off the walls of the lecture hall.
Other students start to stare as they walk by outside, but neither of us cares. We’re too caught up in our own little world of anger and frustration. "You always do this," I spit out between clenched teeth.
"You always assume you know better than everyone else. Well guess what? You don’t!"