The Victorious [BxBxB] ✓

After Class Activities

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.