*TW for assault*

There was a certain, undeniable satisfaction in watching Oliver dressed in his clothes. 

"Are all your shirts black?" Oliver asked. "Don't you like colors?"

"I do, but not on me." He stretched his hands out and waited for Oliver to take them. He tugged him into his lap.

"Will you spend the night here?" he asked, planting a kiss on Oliver's neck. He had freckles on his neck, too, and they were mesmerizing.

"Oh, how lewd," Oliver said. "Are you going soft on me, tough guy?"

"No," James chuckled. "But it's going to be easier to sneak after Victor if we're together."

"Oh, you're such a good negotiator! A lesser man would've said that he wants to hang out with me. That he likes my personality. My charm. My smile. But not you, James Brooks, you dare to add a third man to this conversation."

"I'm just trying to keep things fun," James smiled.

Victor walked in shy of two hours later.

He was carrying a bag filled with coke cans and bags of salt and vinegar chips. He didn't say hello. He placed the bag right next to his nightstand, walked to the closet, and picked out regular clothes. James had a tiny hope hidden in the back of his head that Mr. Perfect was going to change in the room for once. He was curious about what was under his uniform.

James shared a look with Oliver. So it was happening. Finally, Victor was gracious enough to look at them.

"Why are you staring?" he asked.

"How often do you get a haircut?" James asked. "I mean, it must be often, right? It's always so… neat." He reached out and touched the sides of Victor's head. Victor slapped his hands away.

"How often do you get a haircut?" Victor asked. He sounded offended.

"Once every couple of days," James answered, running his hand over his own short hair. Victor opened his mouth, thought for a second, then closed it and shook his head.

"Hey, hey! No." James waved his hand. "Come on, Mr. Mysterious, you don't want to tell me where you get alcohol from. You refuse to tell me where you go to party. You might as well tell me how often you get a haircut."

"James, don't pick on him," Oliver said.

"I'm really not," James answered because this wasn't him being an asshole. He was far worse when trying to be one. He hadn't even been that interested in Victor's haircutting habits until he refused to speak about them.

"Every two weeks." Victor finally answered. He was so fucking apathetic that it irked James. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake.

"Am I boring you, Arlington?" James asked.

Victor looked at him. A long, attentive glare and James was confident that he had fucked up. He waited for all the pieces to fall together in Victor's brain.

"We've never attended the same class, right?" Victor asked.

"Because you keep skipping them." James smiled as sweetly as he could.

Victor kept his frown on his face. "I've never told you my full name, have I?"

"Well, someone's paranoid," James said. "What's going on through that head of yours? Want a tinfoil hat?"

"Did you go through my stuff?"

"No, man," James blatantly lied.

"Did you steal my pack of smokes?" Victor asked. James found himself wondering why he was so damn uptight.

He also discovered that he wanted to hear his laugh again.

"Nope." James shook his head. He could feel Oliver looking at him. No way was he admitting to that. Not in a million years. "And you shouldn't frown so much; you're prettier when you don't." He felt himself cringe. Jesus fucking Christ, he did not just say that! He wanted to slap himself.

Victor shook his head again, and James moved closer. It was that indescribable need to just… piss him off.

"Who shoved a stick up your ass?" James asked. He was definitely breaching into Victor's bubble. He saw the small twitch in his legs, the impulse to take a step back. But Victor didn't, of course not, that suborn mule.

"Go away, James." Victor didn't push him, per se. It wasn't a real push. It wasn't a shove. It was Victor placing his hand on James' chest and extending it to its' full capacity. James moved back; he wasn't trying to start a fight.

He looked down at Victor's palm. How was it that he had just noticed how ashen this guy was? He couldn't help but think about how different he was from Oliver.

Sweet Oliver, who was all-round features; round eyes, button nose, plump lips, puffy hair, and tanned, glowing skin. He was a real-life photograph with a sepia filter slapped on top.

And then there was Victor. All sharpness, from his precise haircut to his straight, narrow nose, to his clean-cut jaw, and almond eyes. Even his cupid's bow was a sharp V., And he was pale like he'd been living all his life tanning under the moon.

"You can't tell me to go away, I live here too," James said, making sure not to sound serious. He had to say it like he was joking. Pissing someone off was different than going in for a brawl. He didn't want to fight Victor. A part of him thought that throwing a punch at him would somehow be against the rules. It was like pitting a bulldog against a house cat.

Victor took a deep breath and kept it in before slowly exhaling out of his nose. So that's what an angry Victor looked like? Underwhelming.

"I never tell you to go away, even when you smell like cheap alcohol."

Victor's eyes snapped like metal to a magnet and locked on James. He smiled that frozen smile, and James felt suddenly guilty.

"Do we have a problem?"

James told himself to shut up.

"Why are you so fucking sensitive?!" he said, instead. At least he was able to confirm to himself that he wasn't as bright as he'd thought.

"James, knock it off." Oliver stepped right next to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. That was a clear sign that he had pushed too hard.

Victor closed his eyes. A moment passed. He kept them closed.

"Ok," he said and finally looked at James. He was ready to say something. To hit him. To react in some way.

Then his phone started vibrating. And kept vibrating.

James saw the way his expression changed. In a blink of the eye, there was no color left in his lips.

He took his phone out and looked at the caller ID. James was willing to swear on his right arm that he saw relief in Victor. Even his shoulders dropped.

"What?" He answered. "Why are you calling? Who calls anymore? How old are you, anyway? God damn it, man, just text me like a normal person." Victor took out his inhaler and used it. James shared a look with Oliver. That was quite a way to react to a phone call if James had ever seen one.

"Yeah." Victor sat on his bed and looked down at his shoes. "Sure." He wasn't pacing around the room while talking at the phone, but he sure as hell couldn't keep his eyes still. "See you there."

Oliver sat next to Victor. "Are you going out?" he asked, his tone as pleasant as always. Victor nodded. He leaned down and grabbed one of his Cokes. Opened it, gulped it down, and made his coke can tower taller.

"What's with the tower?" James had to ask. Victor shrugged. Oh, great, now he was getting the silent treatment.

"Like, out in the town?" Oliver asked. Victor turned his head towards him.

"Why are you asking, Morales?"

"You can call me Oliver." He smiled that pretty, sunny smile. "Please?"

"Why are you asking, Oliver?"

Oliver just shrugged. "I'm just making conversation. I mean, everyone leaves the campus once in a while, and going to town is what most of us do on weekends anyway."

"Ok." Victor was still wired-up. James could see the way his veins were tensing on his hands. "So why are you asking, Oliver?" he repeated.

"I'm not going to tell the dean," Oliver said. "You don't have to answer though, it's completely fine."

"Ok," Victor said. He got up, grabbed his clothes, and went into the bathroom.

Oliver was frowning at him now. 

"Not cool," he said, "That was rude, you know."

"I know." James agreed and sighed. "I don't know what happened…"

"You should apologize," Oliver said.

"Later," James agreed. "Hey, was it just me or Victor was a bit... off when his phone rang."

"I don't know. Maybe he gets phone anxiety..."

James wasn't so sure.

Victor left right after his shower. James and Oliver followed. Outside of the campus grounds, behind the tall, metal gates was a nothingness that stretched for miles. Trees, upon trees, upon trees, with the main road slashing a wound through them, to the nearby town. To humanity.

On the side of the road, there were five cars parked one behind the other. And people. Some James knew, some were strangers, but indeed, they were all students at the school. James lost Victor from his sight, but he didn't care anymore. He walked to the last car and leaned towards the driver.

"Hey, I'm Victor's roommate," he said. He hoped that was enough. He hoped people knew who the fuck Victor was. "Arlington." He added, just to be sure.

"Oh, I heard he has a roommate now." The guy smiled; it was a very politician type of smile.

"He said we could catch a ride here."

"Sure, man," the guy said, pointing to the backseat. "It's gonna get crowded, though."

"Not a problem," James said.

James wasn't sure what he had expected to see. The town nearby was small and neat and empty at that hour. Everything was closed, yet their cars kept going. He looked out the window and felt a bitter taste in his mouth. This wasn't home, home had tall buildings, skyscrapers, and loud cars at every hour. Home had 24/7 shops and taxis everywhere, and the metro was always packed. Home was never this eerie and calm. At least he didn't have to listen to his parents telling him to straighten up his act and stop sucking dick. 

The car parked, and James had to stop feeling sorry for himself. They were in front of a warehouse. For a second, he was amazed that they didn't end up in the middle of the woods, drinking beer out of a car's truck. Well, this was certainly better. And it got even better when one of the preppy-boarding-school kids walked up to some bouncer looking guy and gave him an envelope. At least he didn't have to pay anything.

And, it seemed, they weren't the only ones there.

He grabbed a beer and sat down on a couch, with Oliver. 

"Now we know where he goes," James said. "I mean… it's not that bad, right?"

"Could've been worse." Oliver took the bottle from his hand and took a sip, then wrinkled his nose. "Beer is disgusting," he said. "I don't get it."

"Then, don't drink it." James took his beer back.

"It also kinda smells like sweat," Oliver said. James sniffed his drink.

As the night progressed, James couldn't find Victor. He tried keeping an eye out for him, but the more hours passed, the more he started feeling like something was wrong.

Fuck it, he was at a party with loud music and hot people, and he was worried about that sour-faced idiot. It was because of all the times Victor dragged himself back into the room or got dragged back.

Responsible drinking was not something Victor Arlington was accustomed too. He got up on his feet and looked around. Oliver must've sensed his anxiety because he also stood and grabbed his arm.

"Are you worried?" he asked.

"No. I'm just curious."

James drank another beer and walked around the warehouse turned party house. He noticed a guy holding a few bottles of vodka. It caught his eyes, so he followed him until the guy disappeared through a door.

Oh.

That was new.

Curiosity was twisting like a little warm inside his brain. A parasite. It's always been a source of trouble. He decided not to go. Not for now. It was just a room, a separate room. It wasn't like he could find anything of interest there.

Right?

So he drank his second drink and lost Oliver in the crowd. He didn't know how much later, he found Oliver, chatting around, being sociable, and drinking his drinks that weren't beer. All in all, it was fine. Was it the best party he'd ever been to? No. But given the circumstances, it was bearable. It was better than being locked into his dorm, having to stare at the Greek Tragedy that was Victor's side. It was fucking biblical, especially coming from a schmuck who got a haircut every two weeks.

Granted, he might've been a bit tipsy. But he wasn't getting drunk on beer like it was the first time he was drinking. He was just that – tipsy.

Oliver leaned into his body and kissed him on the neck. He hugged him. There was a perpetual softness to the way Oliver interacted with him. And he loved it.

"Did you find Victor, after all?" he asked, and James' brain came into focus again.

"I wasn't looking for him," he said.

"Yeah, you kinda were." Oliver had to look up at him to meet his eye.

"I didn't see him," James said, glancing around. He noticed the door again. "Maybe he's there." He gestured with his head.

Oliver looked. "Why, what's there?" he asked.

"I don't know; I saw some guy go there with a lot of booze."

"Have you seen Victor go in there?"

"No."

"Have you seen him come out?" Oliver asked.

"No."

Oliver bit his lip. "Should we check?" he asked. "Just to make sure?"

"Why? He didn't come in here with us."

"James, come on." Oliver looked honestly distressed. "Please, I saw everyone tonight, except Victor, and we've been here for like four hours." James hadn't even realized how much time had passed.

"Fine."

James made his way through the crowd, pushing people away from him as he went. He didn't want some asshole to vomit on him. He reached the door and opened it.

He almost missed him in the corner of the room. He almost missed him dangling, unconscious, from the shoulders of some dude. He almost missed him there, his head pushed back, while that guy poured more alcohol down his throat. Victor's shirt and belt were undone.