Victor slapped the sheet down with disgust. He had only done it at Elle's insistence--she seemed to think it was funny--and she'd even nitpicked everything he'd (not) filled in until he'd ended up filling in practically the whole chart.
Without a word though, he turned to leave. He had no desire to talk about this at all--now that it was over, it was better to pretend it didn't happen at all.
Zig was halfway through a crescent roll when Victor's hand slammed into the coffee table.
"What--?" By the time the shock wore off, he couldn't even ask what's wrong before Victor retired to his room for either the next hour or the whole night.
Why's he so pissed off all of a sudden? I didn't bother anything today far as I know-- hm? There's a paper on the table with his name on it. Flipping it over, it's that fill-in-yourself "are you my type?" bingo chart. No doubt Elle put him up to it, but even with her breathing down his shoulder, he expected a blank sheet or just the free space filled in out of spite.
From the sheer amount of stamps just on the first row alone, seems not. Hell, he actually bent the knee about the cold baths. Who knew the day'd come?
"I guess all the jokes about us being closet best friends isn't too far off," Before Victor commands he burn this, he'll fold the paper and stuff it into his pocket and... do something with it. Maybe prop it in the dresser so he'll see it but Victor sure won't.
Are you goat boy's type? || @unborderedreflection