As Victor opened his bedroom door, Connor wondered idly what kind of room someone like Victor would have. Vic was clearly wealthy, maybe it would be all luxury and modern– one of those minimalist, stark white rooms with a single plant and abstract pictures on the wall? It had to be fancy, right? Victor had that vibe.

Wrong.

Not in the slightest. 

Connor was horrified. 

Victor’s room looked like someone had bombed it. Then came in and kicked a few things over for good measure. Connor held in a flinch and tried to keep his expression neutral. Victor muttered something about minding his step, but Connor couldn’t focus on anything besides the intensity of the mess. Mind your step? He couldn’t even see the floor! There were papers, magazines, and thick, old books with foreign names and complex titles. Of course, Victor read depressing Russian literature as a pastime– how him. Connor rolled his eyes. 

The windows were covered with blackout curtains, but Connor’s vision adjusted quickly. Sprinkled amongst the books were empty cigarette cartons and brightly colored cat toys. Freckle had his own bed in the corner, shaped like an actual bed with a little frame and mattress.

“Wow, sorry did I say garbage dump?” Connor asked at last. “I thought I said take me to your room.” Connor faced Victor’s desk, which wasn’t in better shape. 

“I tricked you,” Victor answered, rooting through some scattered papers, until he found what he was looking for. He leaned down and grabbed his phone- a tragic old device with an exceptionally cracked display holding on for dear life. Connor quirked an eyebrow at it– surely, he could afford to get that thing repaired. 

“Do you provide hazmat gear here, or should I grab my own?” Connor took an exaggerated step over neatly stacked Coke cans, the only organized things in the room. Figured it was still garbage.

“Only for VIP visitors. And watch my towers!” Victor checked his Coke cans to make sure they weren’t wobbly. “I worked hard to build them.” 

“Of course, wouldn’t want to knock your filth into your other filth… that would be uncivilized… How’s recreating a compost heap going by the way? I thought you said you wanted to be a skeleton, not a literal pig.”

“To be honest, segregating the papers from the magazines can be a bitch.” Victor shrugged. “They keep mixing around on their own, and I end up not finding anything.” He smiled, but the tips of his ears were turning pink. “Better leave them like that.”

“Right. Hoarder is totally an aesthetic, I see where you’re going with it.” Connor dismissed the mess, deciding Victor had been adequately mocked. He climbed onto the only clear space, the bed, then lifted the forest green duvet to sniff. It smelled clean– a miracle. 

The wall next to the bed was covered with random pictures cut from magazines, plane tickets, bus tickets, movie tickets - tickets Connor didn’t even recognize - out of everything Victor could collect, he decided on tickets -  and a couple of stickers that were definitely Ollie’s. Incongruous with the moody sad man vibe that the rest of the room gave off, a large chubby pikachu stuffie stared out at him from under the sheet. 

Connor plucked it out and snuggled it to his chest. “Didn’t take you for a Pikachu man,” he said. “You seem more like a Bulbasaur guy.”

“I named him Pokemon because it irks Ollie,” Victor explained. 

Connor laughed. “Of course, as one does.” He gave the stuffie a squeeze. “Good good good,” he commented. Then, “Well, you gonna put a movie on or not? Distract me before I start thinking about the inevitable vermin you must be farming in here.”

“They’re all under the bed. A whole colony.” Victor crouched and pulled out some painted canvases, before finally unearthing his laptop like an archaeologist. “I gave them names too. They’re gonna follow you home and eat you.” 

Connor smiled, following Victor’s movements. “Ah bless, escape from this mortal prison at last!” 

Victor looked up at him and laughed. “That’s one way to go. Not what I would choose, but you did wanna be blood-on-the-outside right?”

Connor grinned,  Vic’s laugh made him feel warm, it always felt like a prize, and he liked how much focus Victor put on him when they were talking. Connor wanted him to laugh again, wanted Victor to look at him, comment on him, acknowledge him, touch him. The exact opposite of how Brody made him feel, he noted suddenly.

“Are you hot?” Victor asked, the question startling Connor. “Your face is red. I can open the window if you want.” 

Connor turned away, slightly embarrassed at the call out. “You can open it if you want, but I’m always hot.” He flipped his hair. “I mean, look at me.” 

Victor looked without comment, and Connor’s blush deepened. He searched around for a change of topic, and his eyes landed on the canvases Victor had pulled off his laptop and tossed carelessly aside. “What are those?”

“Paintings,” Victor said without inflection and didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shoved them halfway back under the bed. “Where the hell is my charger?” 

This only made Connor more curious. He rolled his eyes. “I can see that, asshole. Why are they here?” He scrambled over to where Victor still crouched, digging for his charging cable. “Did you paint them?”

Vic chewed the dry skin on his lips. “Yeah.” His focus on the cable seemed a little too steady to be real. Was he shy about his hobby? Connor reached for the canvases and pulled them into his lap to investigate. Oh, now it made sense how Victor won the monster-painting game with Bee and Ollie. It didn’t make him any less of a filthy cheater though.