James spent the majority of the next two weeks in Oliver's room. Victor was around more often now that he had to catch up on his mandatory reading and homework. 

Whenever he was back, he felt an odd pressure to say something. 

He didn't know what. 

"So," Oliver started, "are you going to tell me what's up, or do I have to keep pretending I can't tell?"

"What do you mean?" James asked, taking the pen out of his mouth. He knew it was a bad habit, but he couldn't stop.

"I mean, judging by our pattern, I'm usually the one that comes to your room. And you're here now. I don't mind, really-really don't mind. But why? Did something happened?"

James chewed on the possibility of telling Oliver. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. It wasn't his story, after all. It felt like a violation.

"James." They were both sitting on the floor with a couple of chip bags opened around them. One of them had a very strong cheese smell. Oliver's purple reusable water bottle was right in the middle, like a weird candle. James stared at those things.

"You know, you don't have to tell me." Oliver moved closer to him. "But you can, if you want to."

"It's not me," James said. He couldn't look Oliver in the eye, as if he had done something wrong.

"I figured as much when I walked in on you two."

James took a deep breath, reached over, and took Oliver's water. His mouth felt dry. Then, he told him everything. Oliver listened, nodding once in a while to encourage him to keep going.

"Ok," Oliver said, leaning his head on James' shoulder. "I can understand why you might feel awkward about it."

"Oh, awkward is putting it mildly. On the one hand, I want to be around, you know. I want to keep an eye out, but on the other hand, I feel like he's going to tell me to go fuck myself. He isn't exactly…"

"Open to help?"

James nodded. "So, what do I do?"

Oliver thought for a second. "You're not very good at lit papers," he said, "and I'm dyslexic, so this is giving me a headache."

"Wait, you have dyslexia?"

"We're not talking about me now." He smiled. "I think we should just… hang out with him? Ask him for help with literature and philosophy stuff. I don't think we can make him talk, and I feel like if I say anything, he's going to get biblically angry. At both of us! Maybe just having non-toxic friends around will help?"

"I guess… And if he tells us to fuck off?"

"I'll drop on the floor and start crying." Oliver nodded. "It's quite a good argument."

James chuckled and cupped his face, then squeezed his cheeks gently.

"Kiss my forehead," Oliver said.

James did.

They picked up some of their stuff, including the snacks and walked to James' room. Oliver didn't even knock. He barged in so loudly that Victor dropped his book on his lap.

Victor sat and lifted his knees so he could rest his elbows on them. He was wearing gray sweatpants, and that hit differently.

"Hello, Vicky-Vic," Oliver said, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" He frowned, crossing his arms. Naturally, his first reaction was to be standoffish. 

"I need help. We. We need help."

"If this is about hair…" Victor started, closing his eyes.

James couldn't help but laugh. "It's not about hair."

"Then what do you want?"

"I keep forgetting how rude you are," James said.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me. I didn't know you were suddenly entitled to my time. But please, continue."

"Come on, Victor." Oliver sat on his bed and touched his knee. "Please? It's just literature homework."

Victor puffed through his nose, something about that statement amused him. "Really?"

"What's so funny?" James flanged a pillow straight into his face.

"Don't throw your junk at me," Victor said and freesbeed the pillow back by its' corner.

"Junk? You're talking to me about junk?" James gestured around the room. Victor's drawings, papers, books, and the overall mess. "You fucking hypocrite."

"It's on my side. I keep my stuff on my side of the room. We've had this conversation before."

Oliver sighed. "Stop bickering, guys, you're both very pretty and talented."

James snorted a laugh, and Victor looked at him, completely unimpressed.

"You have a really good poker face," Oliver told him. "Let's backtrack to the main subject now. Will you help us with Beowulf or what?"

"Fine." Victor placed his book on his nightstand, right on top of a dirty mug. "Did you at least read it?"

"I read the first page." James smiled.

"I… skimmed through the first… paragraph…sentence..."

"You didn't even open the book, did you?" Victor said.

Oliver shrugged. "You can't prove anything."

Victor was surprisingly good at explaining things, even if his temper wasn't the best suited for a teacher. Oliver had the attention span of a small Labrador hyped up on cocaine, and James managed to blank out the moment the words "metrically, stylistically and thematically" were spoken. He wasn't sure what followed after them, but it had to do with mythology.

"I think I can get a passing grade with this," Oliver said, smiling at Victor. "Thank you. I owe you."

"It's fine." Victor reached for a soda. 

"No, really. I want to do something for you." Oliver was like a cat when he wanted something, in the way he touched people and looked at them.

"You can… leave me alone?"

"Don't be rude," James said. "You can use some positive influence in your toxic lifestyle."

"Fuck. Off." Victor lifted his middle finger.

"Language, Arlington, it's… unbecoming of you." James said.

"Do you even know what unbecoming means, Brooks?"

"Ah, he knows my name!"

"Come on, Vic," Oliver said, keeping a beaming smile on his face. "James can help you with math, or we can go somewhere, and we can buy you lunch on the weekend. Imagine this, lunch that's not chips! Something nice and hot and steaming."

"Wow." It was the most unenthusiastic thing James heard in his life.

"Oh, pretty, pretty, pretty, please?!" Oliver rested his elbows on Victor's knees and leaned forward a little. "Please! Come on; it's going to be so fun. And I know a place that has such amazing food."

Victor still had a frown glued on. It didn't take FBI agent to figure out that he was uncomfortable. 

James noticed how he didn't even look at him. His eyes were on Oliver's face. How could someone not smile when looking at Oliver was beyond him. 

"I don't eat meat," Victor said, and Oliver beamed. 

"Oh, that's fine! I know where to go for vegetarian stuff. I promise you're going to like it."

"Wait." James intervened, and both of them turned towards him. "What do you mean, no meat? What am I supposed to do?"

"Starve," Victor said deadpan. He cracked a smile after a moment. Oliver laughed and moved closer to him.

"How mean," Oliver said, holding Victor's gaze. Victor had the uncanny ability not to blink. 

James wasn't sure what the hell stirred into him at that moment. Arousal? Jealousy? Both?

"So, how's tomorrow, working for you?" He asked, and they both turned towards him. Oliver was even more golden next to Victor's paleness. 

"That's perfect." Oliver smiled. 

Victor shrugged. Of course, he would shrug, why would he put in the horrible effort of speaking?

Oliver said it would be better to spend the night there, so they did. Victor was the first one to fall asleep. He seemed to be a heavy-comatose-sleeper even without medicinal help. It was somehow worrying, somehow fascinating, somehow to their advantage.

He needed his quality time with Oliver, even if it was just talking about insignificant stuff.

"Tell me about that guy that your parents caught you with." Oliver had pushed his hand up James' shirt and was holding it over his stomach.

"Ah. That guy," he said, "I don't know what to tell you about him. We went to the same school, played some basketball a few times…I don't even know his full name."

"Was he cute?" Oliver asked.

"Are you asking me if he was hotter than you?" James chuckled.

"In a more discrete way, yes." Oliver kissed his neck.

"No, he wasn't. He was just some dude."

"You weren't like… in love with him?"

"Fuck, no." He laughed, shaking his head. "I just wanted to get laid."

"Ok. But who was your first love?"

"This is getting deep," James said. "I've never been in love. I never really dated."

"Oh my!" He jumped from his arms and looked down at him. "So what you're saying is that I'm your first boyfriend."

"Yes." James smiled and pinched his cheek gently. "Now, you. Tell me about your first love."

Oliver thought for a second. "You're going to tell me that I'm lame."

"No." James pulled him back into a hug. "Your music taste is lame, but I think your taste in men is stellar."

Oliver laughed. "Ok… It was a guy. His name was Mark; he was everything you can imagine, tall, dark, and mysterious. And smart. Had round glasses. I had this immense, huge, utterly …explosive crush on him. And I asked him out. That feeling of being nervous around him never faded. It was a constant butterfly party in my stomach."

"And?"

"And after a couple of months, he decided he's not into guys." Oliver sighed. "I don't know if inheriting his family's estate and business had ANYTHING to do with it, but here we are."

"So he was rich too?"

"Filthy. Only kid too."

"And? Is he here? In this school?"

"Nah, he graduated. Don't be jealous."

"I'm not," James said. He was.

"I'm over him, you know." Oliver kissed his jaw. James nodded absentmindedly. "We never slept together either."

James needed a second to process this new information.

"Did you dated before this Mark?" he asked.

"No." He could hear the smile in Oliver's voice.

"Oh." Realization felt like a hot blush on his neck and face. "Ok."

"Does it bother you?"

"Of course not," he said, kissing the top of his head, "I can't think of a single thing that bothers me about you."

"I'm perfect."

"Yeah." He chuckled, running his fingers through his soft curls. "You are."

There were a few moments of complete silence, and James felt his mind drift into thought or sleep. Then Oliver pressed his lip next to his ear. Their warmth brought him back to reality. 

"So, when do you want to have sex?"