Ollie pulled some bags off James’ arms, fussing over the welts they left, and at long last, he was home.  Grocery shopping really did not need to be that exciting. James was already exhausted after a long work week of carrying heavy boxes and people screaming at him for no reason. It was Saturday and all James wanted from his weekend was for it to be quiet and relaxing. Not… whatever the hell that was next door. 

“Vic, we’re gonna make food, stop eating chips,” Ollie said, making his way next to Victor, who was stretched on the couch like he intended to become one with it. Victor offered his bag and Ollie shoved his fingers in, grabbing a fistful. “It’s going to ruin your appetite,” Oliver continued. 

“Just let me know when you burn the groceries, and I’ll order pizza.” Victor lifted his chin, allowing Freckle to suffocate him by sitting on his throat. James was utterly amazed at the type of love Victor had for his – not Ollie’s, not theirs’, but HIS–  cat.

James sighed and went to wash away the sweat from his trip before he got started. It wasn’t the first time they tried cooking, but this time he made sure to turn off the smoke alarm before starting. 

“What culture are you going to offend today?” Victor asked, with a small smile on his face. 

“Let’s make burgers and fries– it’s not that hard, right?” James said, walking next to the couch. He placed the tips of his fingers against Victor’s temples and leaned down to kiss him. Victor was a jackass sometimes, but he pulled off the rude-handsome-guy persona so well and James suspected it had everything to do with his dry, dark humor. James didn’t understand it most of the time, but he still found it hot. Actually, he was very much enamored with everything Victor did. Maybe that was a side effect of being stupidly in love.  

“I like burgers and fries.” Oliver went in for a second serving of chips, ate them, then looked at his fingers, as if he was debating whether he should lick them or drag them on someone’s shirt. Probably James’. Ollie knew he could get away with murder if he wanted to. He could burn down a hospital, bat his eyelashes, and instead of a prison sentence, he’d receive a peck on the head and a compliment. James was one of those suckers. Hell, he was their leader. 

“Thanks for including me in your plans, James,” Victor said, “Really, you’re great.” 

“Stop being dramatic, I got you vegetarian patties.” James pinched his cheek and looked down at his frowning face. 

Victor showed his teeth in a forced faux-smile that was more appropriate in a dentist’s office than a casual conversation about food.“Aw, thanks. At least I don’t run the risk of dying from Salmonella. It’s not how I want to go, you know.” Victor made a gesture with his hand towards nothing in particular. “But I’m not picky.”

“Vic, that’s not funny,” Ollie said, petting his hair. 

James laughed, at least it wasn’t his shirt this time. Or the couch. Or the cat. 

“Is that– is that your chip-dust hand?” Victor asked with sudden realization, dodging like a turtle retreating into its shell. 

“No!” Ollie laughed, then walked back into the kitchen. 

About half an hour later, while James was struggling to peel a potato, the doorbell rang. He turned towards Oliver, “ Can you get that?” Unfortunately, Oliver was stuck in a debate with Freckle. Somehow, Freckle was convinced that their vegetables were a wonderful place to sleep. 

“Vic!” James called out. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Victor dragged himself to the hallway and opened the door. James couldn’t see who it was. He couldn’t remember if they’d ordered anything lately. 

“Your crying friend is here,” Victor announced, before dropping back on the couch to continue his true crime show. 

It took James a few seconds to collect his thoughts enough to figure out who this “friend” was. 

Right as he remembered the pretty blue-eyed neighbor, the man himself popped his head into the kitchen. “Hi, I brought vodka as a housewarming, or whatever.”

“Whatever to you too,” Victor drawled, before attempting to eat a big chip all in one go without breaking it. He failed. “I’ll drink you under the table.” 

Oliver sighed. “Vic, no, not before food, please. You’ll throw up.” 

“Hey,” Connor said, placing his bottle of alcohol on the countertop. “Take his place or stay out of it, tiny guy.” 

“Tiny?” Ollie asked, looking at James for confirmation.

“You’re fun-sized,” James smiled. Ollie stuck his tongue out at him. 

Connor shrugged and pulled himself out a chair from under the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to like… offend all this.” He waved his hand up and down towards Ollie, indicating his whole self. 

“I’m not exactly offended as… uhm....” Ollie seemed to struggle for words. 

Victor intervened.  “Connor. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re also quite small. Smaller than Ollie actually. Rather tiny.” 

Connor frowned. His nose was still red from earlier, and if his puffy eyes were any indication, he’d still been crying until recently. James was surprised he had sought them out so soon.Though, considering he must have gone out and bought that vodka, maybe he was just here to be distracted. James couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious of their new neighbor, he wasn’t sure if he could handle more yelling or complaining. All James wanted was to have a nice, quiet day at home! Hopefully Connor didn’t bring any more drama along with the vodka.  

James almost cut himself with his peeling knife for the second time. “God I hate this,” he said, dropping the knife in the sink. He eyed Connor’s gift. “And I don’t know what to say about so much alcohol.”

“Nobody ever died because of some vodka shots,” Connor shrugged. 

Victor walked into the kitchen and lifted Freckle. He kissed the cat on the forehead. “I’m sure someone did, at one point,” Victor hugged Freckle against his chest, but this time, Freckle struggled out of his arms and jumped onto Connor’s lap instead. 

Victor’s jaw tensed. “Traitor,” he muttered, then took a deep sniff. “Your food is burning.” 

Ollie let out a desperate whine and struggled to take the pan off the heat. James was ready to give up. They’d managed to ruin dinner yet again. That costs money! James wasn’t rich and he couldn’t afford to keep throwing groceries out like that.  

“Fine, Vic. We’re going to– once again– eat take-out. I hope you’re happy.” James groaned, his phone already in his hand. “Why are we even buying food if it ends up in the trash?”