Two weeks in and Victor had kept his promise.

It was during the third week, at the ungodly hour of 4:20 AM, that the door burst open. It scared James awake. He was ready to punch a sucker in the teeth. But it wasn't just one sucker. There were three, and one was Victor. Drunk. Utterly, completely, hopelessly pissed.

The other guys dropped him on his bed, said a too loud "sorry man," and stumbled out in a chaos of limbs and incoordination. At least they closed the door behind them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" James looked at Victor, and he wasn't moving. He got up and walked to his bed to check if he was breathing. He was. And he stank of hard liquor.

He gave Victor a nudge in the shoulder. He was out cold. Who would've thought Mr. Perfect was a party guy? It was, if nothing else, quite impressive. More so that James liked parties. More so that he wanted in on whatever kind of debauchery was going on.

Shaking his head, James went back to bed. He had Latin at eight sharp, and the last thing he wanted was to fail and be forced to join the military.

In the morning, Victor was the same, down to the position of his arms. He was missing a shoe too.

"Hey!" He grabbed him by the collar and lifted him. He was like a heavy rag doll, his head slinging back, his mouth open. He looked dead.

James dropped him back on his bed, frowning. That wasn't normal, right? He gave him a light slap over the face. Nothing. He had to admit that he didn't want him to throw up in his sleep and choke on his vomit.

"Jesus, you're a heavy sleeper," he muttered and looked at the clock. He was going to be late. He didn't have time for this. So he left. Victor was not his responsibility, and he didn't even like him to begin with.

Latin class started with him sitting at the back of the room, trying to figure out why people wasted time with a dead language. Math was easier. Physics was even more so. Numbers made more sense than metaphors and old tongues. At least he had something else to focus on while there.

"Hello, Oliver," James said. Oliver was a lovely guy, even James could attest to that. Oliver's hair was messy, like a main of strawberry blond. He had bright, round eyes, and he smiled more often than not.

"Morning," he said. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I just couldn't sleep that great," James answered. "Lunch later?"

"I'm already starving."

When he finally returned to his room, Victor was still there. He looked pale. Sick. James checked again to see if the idiot was breathing. He was, so he continued to ignore him.

He eventually got bored and, since Mr. not so Perfect was out cold and he was curious…. He decided to snoop. Maybe he had a bottle of something hidden somewhere.

James found books, an abundance of thick novels; philosophy, and art and biographies. He found essays and a bag of stale vinegar chips. He found a notebook with small sketches of people's faces and animals in it. Aurelian Victor Arlington was written on the first page with neat, cursive letters.

"Of course, they named you Aurelian." James rolled his eyes. What a bunch of assholes, he thought and continued looking around. He found a pack of smokes, which he kept. Next to it, an inhaler. Very responsible, Aurelian, James thought, leaving the inhaler there.

A phone that was not his vibrated. It came from Victor's pocket, and James debated whether he should look or not. Then it vibrated again. And again. Someone was blowing up his phone with texts.

He thought that it might be urgent. Important. Someone might need help. He was going to check, but only because he was a nice dude. He wasn't doing it because he wanted to know. No, he would never. It was a blatant invasion of privacy, and he was above that. Of course, it was for good reasons.

Vic.

Victor.

Vicky.

Victor Arlington.

Man, are you dead?

You're probably dead.

Listen, text me when you're up. I think we might find a ride for next time.

He was bored out of his mind and everyone he interacted with, albeit they were shockingly nice, they were also shockingly dull. James had a theory that they just pretended because everyone's parents had business with everyone's parents.

He went into the bathroom to take a quick shower and shave. He was in the middle of washing up when Victor barged in and hugged the toilet. James wasn't pious, or shy, or any variation of modest, so he didn't give a shit if someone saw him naked.

"What are you doing?" James asked.

"I don't want to throw up on my stuff," Victor said. He sounded surprisingly well for someone in his condition.

Victor straightened himself soon enough and washed his face and teeth. James was impressed by how little he cared that there was a naked man at arm's length away.

"Is it day or night?"

"Evening," James answered.

"Ok." And he left. He didn't even look at him. James was a bit insulted. He had worked months to get abs, and this guy didn't even glance.

He walked out of the shower, and Victor rushed past him into the bathroom. James heard the door being locked.

It was impressive how different he looked when he got out. There he was, Mr. Perfect. The only things that betrayed his night of partying were his dark circles.

James watched him check his phone while kicking stuff under his bed.

"I have a complaint," James said. Victor didn't react quickly. He finished reading his texts before dragging his eyes away from the screen, to James.

"What?"

"I don't appreciate being woken up at four in the morning by a bunch of drunk snobs."

Victor blinked slowly. He seemed to be doing it deliberately. "I think it's a fair exchange," he said.

"Really? What do I get?"

"You get to fuck whoever you want in our shared room. I get to come back drunk if that pleases me. Plus, I don't even snore. Have you seen my shoe?"

James got up and walked next to him. He was still delighted that he was the taller one. 

"No," he answered. "I didn't steal your shoe if that's what you're implying." James knew he wasn't, but he still wanted to piss him off somehow.

Victor turned and lifted his chin a little. The difference in height wasn't that drastic. 

"It never crossed my mind that you would steal just one shoe," he said. "That sounds like a stupid criminal decision," he paused and smiled, "even for you."

"Did you just call me a stupid criminal?" He stepped closer. He didn't care if he was invading his bubble. Burst it, crush social norms, and push the limits.

"If you have to ask…" Victor placed his hand on James' chest and pushed him away. "And learn about personal space, please. This isn't public school."

If someone back home would've said that, he would've ended up with a bruised jaw. James would've been suspended for a few days. But this wasn't back home, and he didn't want to be expelled.

"No," James said, making a point out of removing Victor's hand off of him. "You're too preppy for that, aren't you?"

Victor just smiled and wiped his hand on his shirt before walking past him and leaving the room.

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. He took a second to wonder why he didn't like this guy; it wasn't as if he'd done anything. He was barely around. They had exactly two conversations, and neither was pleasant.

It took another two weeks before James finally saw Victor again. This time, Victor was alone, and he was playing cards and drinking orange juice with Oliver. 

Victor didn't even turn his head to look. Didn't glance, didn't acknowledge them in any way, shape, or form. They were invisible, and the only thing that he did was crash, face first, into his bed. Then he stopped moving.

"Jesus Christ," Oliver said, a deep frown forming on his face. He was genuinely worried. "Is he ok?"

"Yeah, he does that," James said, turning his attention back to Oliver. Oliver was pretty and sober and had cute, round, green eyes. James discovered he had a thing for freckles and slightly crooked teeth.

"It makes sense why he's never in any classes," Oliver said. "Should I leave?"

"No. No, don't leave," James said. "Why would you leave? He doesn't even sleep; he goes into a coma."

James took a pillow and threw it at Victor. Nothing, not even a twitch. "Victor! Hey, Victor!"

"Impressive," Oliver said, but got up and walked next to Victor. He crouched and placed his hand on his forehead. "He feels kinda cold," Oliver said. "Do you have a blanket?"

"Why do you care?" James asked. "He can't tell either way."

"I don't know… he just looks helpless."

James sighed and took out a blanket from their shared closet and threw it to Oliver.

"He's not helpless; he's drunk."

"You think this is just being drunk?" Oliver turned towards him; his eyes were bright even in the artificial light. "James, no, I'm sure he took something."

James felt his eyebrows go up. Really? So Mr. Perfect was even more of a mystery. Oliver covered Victor with the blanket and frowned.

"We'll have to make sure to give him water when he wakes up…"

"Oliver, Ollie, no." James placed his hands on Oliver's shoulders and pulled him away from the bed. "No, it's not our job. And I'm not giving him water like I'm his nurse. You'll just have to spend the night here if you want that," James said. 

Oliver blushed. He blushed! Not like that crocodile of a man who wouldn't even blink at this kind of proposal. 

"You don't help people because it's your job," he said, "and I just feel like it's the right thing to do… where does he even go?"

"I don't know," James said. "Do you want to follow him next time?" He joked, but he could see the way Oliver's eyes lit up. So, goodie two shoes was not opposed to a little spying. James was more interested in finding the party.

"I mean… we could." Oliver muttered.