“Did you paint this?” Connor scanned the canvas, which was too big to look at from arm’s length. He settled it against Victor’s headboard and moved back. “It’s… huh… I don’t know how to feel about it.” He jabbed Victor in the belly repeatedly with stiff fingers, Victor made a whining grunt and caught Connor’s hand. 

“I’m confused,” Connor complained. “Explain it to me.”

Victor didn’t hurry to answer. “Well, I guess confusion is a feeling too,” he said. “It doesn’t even have a name, this one.” He dropped the offending hand and shifted in his bed to point at the middle of the canvas. “This is supposed to be a person, but it’s more like a silhouette, like–” he rolled his eyes to the ceiling while he thought, “...a lack of identity.” 

Connor shuffled over to join Victor, and to study it from the same angle Victor was facing.

Victor pointed at the bottom half of the painting. “These are other people. Other people don’t usually care about another stranger’s struggles, so they’re all blended together. I think this is how we view strangers and their issues. But if you look closely you can still see some faces.” He moved his finger to the top of the painting. “The color goes lighter here, they’re a little more vibrant. Maybe the person is falling into despair or floating towards salvation, you can’t really tell.” 

Connor wrinkled his nose and tilted his head. “It’s dark...and a little desperate...? Maybe?”

“Maybe when you don’t know who you are, you don’t know where you belong. Or maybe you always have the option to choose despair or hope.” Victor shrugged and chewed a hangnail for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe it’s just sad and I’m being pretentious.” 

“You can call it that, Despair or Hope, I like the dichotomy,” Connor suggested it as a fact, Victor’s agreement was already presumed.

Victor leaned over the bed again and searched for something underneath. He got up with a paint pen in his hand.  It was surprising that he knew exactly where to find that thing, perhaps there was method to his mess. He uncapped it and quickly scrawled  Despair or Hope in the bottom corner. “There. You’ve baptized a painting.” 

“Nice,” Connor nodded contentedly. “I feel important. Show me another.”

Victor went through some of his paintings, some were more colorful and hopeful, some were dark and sad. Connor offered his very educated opinion, and occasionally his thoughts elicited one of Victor’s rare smiles or even a light chuckle. Connor found himself focusing hard and digging deep for his opinions. As usual, he wanted to see Victor smile more. 

“Good job,” Victor said, placing his hand on top of Connor’s head, ruffling his hair gently. “You’re not bad at this.” Connor suppressed the warm feeling it gave him. Why’s he petting me like a dog? So condescending. He grinned regardless. Victor did not address the last painting, the one that was facing the wall on the other side of the room.  

Connor reached far, far off the bed to grab it, so far that he started to slip off. Victor grabbed his waistband and heaved him back onto the bed just as his fingers snagged the edge of the canvas.

“That one’s a bit depressing,” Victor said as if his other stuff were all pink and cheerful. This one had more red and black, and there were no signs of the brighter color that Victor associated with hope. This, Connor decided wisely, was despair. 

“I’ll fucking say it is, Jesus. What, did you paint this while on a drug-fueled bender or some shit? It looks like a suicide note.”

Victor dragged his tongue over his teeth, the way he did when he didn’t have an answer ready. “I told you it’s a bit depressing.” He took the canvas back and turned it around so they couldn’t see the image anymore. 

Connor ignored Victor’s odd mood swing, the way he’d learned to do, and flipped the canvas back around. “Well you just explained all the others, go on then,” he urged, nudging Victor gently with his elbow, then leaning his head on Victor’s shoulder. 

Victor scratched the back of his neck and hummed. “It’s ah - how should I put this? It’s the feelings you get when someone leaves or dies or... both.” 

Connor processed that for a moment, he could hear the reluctance in Victor’s voice. He ignored it. “Who died?”

“My dad,” Victor answered flatly. His voice was empty, refusing further questions.

Connor peered up at him, from where his head was perched on Victor’s shoulder, but other than blowing a strand of Connor’s hair out of his mouth, Victor’s face was also blank and unreadable. 

Connor jiggled him again. “I’m sorry. When did he die?”

“When I was a kid.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” His voice didn’t match the statement. 

“Sounds like it mattered. Were you guys close? I’m not close with my dad. I wonder sometimes how I’d feel if he died. I think I might be fine.” Connor slipped back to lay flat. “That’s too dark, isn’t it? Sorry.”

Victor rubbed between his eyebrows as if he was massaging away a headache. “I think you’d probably miss him. Relationships with parents tend to be complicated.”

“He must have been young,” Connor mused to the ceiling. “How did he die?”

“He shot himself in the head.” Victor pressed his fingers over his eyelids. 

“Dang.” 

A heavy silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on.

“Yeah. Now buy me that pizza you owe me.” Victor said suddenly, obviously breaking the tension. 

Connor let out a giggle completely incongruous with the situation. “No way, you’re a cheater. You cheated. You cheating cheater.  I’m not getting you anything. But I can give you a metaphorical award.” 

Victor puffed a laugh. “Oh yeah?” 

“World’s darkest boy award, Edgelord-in-Command.”

“That sounds lame. I don’t want it.” Victor rested his head lightly on Connor’s. “You can keep it.” 

“No I wouldn’t dream of taking your title, you truly earned it. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, please consult the academy.”

“I don’t trust the academy, not since they snubbed Freckle for World’s-Roundest-Cat.” 

Connor yawned. “No it’s all very legitimate, I swear. He flopped back and rolled over. “It must have been hard. I wish that didn’t happen to you.”

Victor opened his mouth and kept it like that for a few seconds as if he was struggling to find his words. Weird. Victor always had words to throw around. “Thanks,” he said, awkwardly.  “I wish he hadn’t done it either.”  He nodded a couple of times at nothing in particular and rolled out of bed. “Do you want to get out of here? It’s kinda stuffy.” 

“Holy shit, did you just suggest leaving the house? I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you outside.” Connor bounced up to join him, not wanting to miss the rare opportunity.

“Yeah, I only go out when there’s a full moon. Where do you want to go?” Victor asked, carefully stepping around his coke cans. 

“Take me on a date!” Connor wiggled his eyebrows. 

Victor frowned. “I’m not taking you on a–”

“Shut up, I know. A friend-date. Buy me food.” He grabbed Victor’s arm like a fancy lady at a ball.

Victor rolled his eyes and guided Connor out of his room. “I have to shave first,” he said. 

“Change your clothes too, you smell like an ashtray,” Connor added.