While James was stuck in class, Victor had found a way to disappear. It's been three days. Three days without Arlington around, and he couldn't focus. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he drinking? Worse? With whom? Was he safe?

The questions made his skin crawl. He didn't want to care this much.

He loved Oliver, and thinking about someone else felt like cheating.

After they finished with classes for that day, Oliver crawled into James' bed and shoved his head into the pillow. They both had to write papers on some poems, and neither of them wanted to read.

"Let's just watch a movie?" Oliver smiled brightly. He got up and hugged him. "Please?"

"You think that you can get anything you want by being cute?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I really do."

"Fine." James rolled his eyes. "We're watching horror."

Oliver whined. "Fuck!"

Oliver was clinging to his arm for dear life when the door opened. James would've been perfectly fine, absolutely ok, if not for his boyfriend screaming. James jumped.

Victor stopped in his tracks, one foot into the room, his hand still on the handle. He looked not sober.

"Why are you yelling?" His voice was softened by alcohol or something else. But it was still smooth, and it made James' blood boil in all the wrong places.

"You scared me."

Victor walked in, closed the door, and dropped on his bed. Only after he was lying down did he kick his shoes off. He was fine. He was alive. He didn't look hurt or disheveled. The thought of someone touching Victor was he wasn't sober made James' inside go berserk.

"Where were you?" James demanded. Victor turned his head to look at him. He was inches away from falling asleep.

"None of your business." He yawned.

Oliver got up and forced him to drink some water, saying something about helping with the hangover. It was similar to taking care of a child, a rebellious teenager who refused authority.

Oliver was rubbing Victor's back, soothing him into sleep.

"Where were you, Arlington? You were gone for three fucking days."

"Hey," Oliver frowned. "You don't need to be mean to him."

"This is not me being mean," James said. "This is me being pissed off, look at him!"

"Can you shut up?" Victor muttered. "You talk so damn much, just shut up for a second."

It ticked him off more than it should have. He wanted to drag him out of bed and make him explain himself, but that wouldn't be appropriate. Starting a conversation that wasn't superficial also seemed out of this realm. Victor didn't talk – period. He commented, and made remarks, and chatted, sure, but he didn't talk, he didn't share.

He dropped the issue and returned to his bed.

Soon enough, Oliver joined, and they finished the movie. Then they both pretended that they had no other obligations, so they slept.

They slept until Victor tripped over his junk on his way to the bathroom. James woke up and looked at him, walking a little wobbly, pale. Sickly pale.

"Are you ok?" James got out of bed and held him by his arms.

"Spectacular." 

"What do you need?" He had to guide him back to his bed. He sat without any resistance. James pushed the hair off his forehead. He felt hot.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

James crouched in front of him. He had no idea what to do. Victor was looking at him, eyes cloudy and unfocused. He had dark circles and his lips were parted. James didn't want to look, but he did, and they were chapped, and the corners of his mouth were pointing downwards, and he wanted to kiss him. 

Fuck. No. That was just a stupid impulse. 

"Hey, focus," he said, as gently as he could and placed his palms on the side of Victor's neck. There was no doubt he was running a fever.

"I'm not feeling great." Victor's head tilted. James could feel his pulse under his fingers. It hit him. He was touching his neck. It was intimate and soft, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. Fuck. The impulse was there.

He wanted to touch Victor.

"Did you take something?" He had to ask.

Victor blinked lazily. James had no idea if it was because he was sick or still drunk or maybe something else.

"No." He didn't move, his eyes were still on him, dark and tired.

He wanted to touch him.

"I'll bring you some water, and I'm sure there are some meds around. Ok? Can you sit here for me, please?

Victor hummed. He leaned back, holding his weight on his arms. He dropped his head back, and James could see his veins. He wanted to lean over and bite his neck.

He wanted to touch him.

"You should try and sleep now. It's three in the morning."

Victor held his face in his palms and bowed his head between his knees. James sat beside him and, reluctantly, rested his palm on his back. He could feet his spine, his muscles, his body.

"I'm so sick. I'm so tired." His words felt heavy.

"You should sleep."

Victor nodded; James could see his head move.

"Come here. Come up." He didn't want to grab Victor; it felt like an obscene idea. "Please, come here."

Victor straightened his back and turned his head towards him. "What?"

"Don't get bitchy now." James pulled the cover-up. "Just try and sleep, ok? You'll feel better in the morning."

Victor finally laid on his back, and James threw the blanket over him. He wanted to retake his temperature, but he held his hand back. A part of him was fully aware that it wasn't just that.

He desperately wanted to touch him.

James went back to bed. Oliver rolled over and glued himself to him. He loved Oliver; God did he love him!

He wasn't sure if thinking about other people was considered normal. He didn't want to think about Victor. It felt like cheating.

He finally managed to fall asleep, but he was still the first one to wake up the next day. He couldn't feel his arm. Oliver's head was right. Victor was still sleeping on his back in the same position.

"Babe." He kissed Oliver's head. "Babe, I can't feel my arm, and I need to take a piss."

Oliver opened his eyes, bright and green, and smiled. James hadn't been able to imagine someone smiling in the morning until he met Oliver.

"Well, look at you…" His voice was thick with sleep. "Talking about dicks so early in the morning."

"I need to pee," James said again, and Oliver lifted his head.

He took the time to take a shower. He actively thought about what he was going to eat, what time he should go to the gym, what classes he had. He refused, absolutely avoided the thought of Victor.

Oliver was up when he returned. Well, he wasn't up. He was awake, still stretched on the bed. He was smiling; his hair was a complete mess of curls. He opened his arms for a hug. James had to lean over him.

"Man, I love you," Oliver said. "I feel it in my tiny heart."

"You have a very big heart," James said.

"A fat heart."

"A chunky heart."

"A thick heart." Oliver gasped. "A dummy thick heart."

James kissed his forehead. "Go brush your teeth, heathen; I want eggs."

"How's Victor?" Oliver lifted himself like an old man.

"He got a fever last night."

"And you… didn't wake me because?"

"Because, why would I? I took care of it."

"Victor is not an it, James!" Oliver joked as he got out of bed. He walked next to Victor and placed the back of his hand on the side of his neck. "Seems fine."

Oliver watched Victor for a few long moments. He was frowning. James knew that look, and it knew what it meant. He was also against the idea of playing babysitter. Oliver was too soft, James thought, but it would've been hypocritical of him to say it out loud. He also cared too much about Victor.

"I can go grab food and come back," Oliver said. "We can get something for Victor. I think he needs to eat normal food."

"Fine. But hurry, I don't want to be late."

James watched Oliver go and sat on his desk chair. Victor was in his usual coma, breathing so softly one could assume he was dead. He was still wearing his street clothes and socks. Should he tell Oliver about this new, weird feelings? Would Oliver understand?

The last thing he wanted was to upset him.