"Oh," Victor let out an exaggerated, long-drawn sigh from the side, his face filled with undisguised, hypocritical disappointment. "How boring... I thought there might be some more exciting memories."
Wednesday didn't bother giving him another glance. She turned away efficiently, picked up her neatly folded, spotless black school uniform, and headed toward the bathroom.
A few minutes later, she walked out fully dressed. Every crease in her uniform exuded a meticulous coldness, as if it could cut through the very air trying to approach her.
She walked straight toward the dorm door, prepared to leave the chaos of last night and the stupidity of the morning completely behind her.
Just as her hand touched the doorknob, Victor's voice rang out again, carrying a deliberately feigned, nonchalant curiosity:
"Hey, Wednesday, just wondering... after I blacked out last night, I didn't say anything weird or stupid, did I? I often lose control of my tongue when I'm drunk and like to ramble about things even I don't understand."
Wednesday's steps faltered for a fraction of a second, almost imperceptibly.
Images of last night flashed back instantly—under the moonlight, the boy's hazy yet exceptionally serious gaze, that slurred but blunt "gotta make sure you're okay"... Her fingertips tightened on the doorknob for a moment, then released.
"No." Her reply was concise, her voice steady and flat, devoid of any emotion.
Without looking back, she pulled the door open and walked out, her black skirt cutting a decisive arc through the air, as if to shut out all unfinished conversations and inexplicable emotions behind the door.
The dorm door closed with a soft "click."
Leaving Victor and Enid staring at each other.
A strange silence filled the air.
The cynical smirk on Victor's face slowly faded. He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtfully at the closed door.
"Hmm..." He let out a meaningful syllable.
Enid was still processing the information. She looked at the door, then at Victor, and muttered under her breath, "Did she... just pause for a second?"
Victor didn't answer, merely rubbing his temples, seemingly still suffering from a bit of a hangover.
A subtle silence, mixed with awkwardness, curiosity, and a hint of loss, hung in the air.
Enid sat on the bed hugging her knees, her pale green eyes blinking as she looked at the closed door, then at Victor, who was rubbing his temples on the adjacent bed, seemingly trying to piece together his memories.
"So..." Enid finally couldn't help but speak up, her tone carrying a lingering confusion and a bit of grievance, "What exactly... happened last night?"
Victor stopped rubbing his temples and looked up. The hangover made his usually overly bright eyes appear a bit hazy, but that habitual glint of madness was already beginning to coalesce deep within.
He tilted his head, seemingly considering Enid's question with utmost seriousness, a look of almost innocent confusion appearing on his face.
"Well..." He drawled, his fingertips unconsciously tapping his chin, "Based on my current remaining memory fragments, which feel like they've been smeared with chocolate sauce..."
He suddenly snapped his fingers, a brilliant and somewhat mischievous smile blooming on his face:
"As for the process... it was basically me being bound by Wednesday using a very professional, very cold, and very... well, impressive... technique, and then being interrogated for ages under a desk lamp."
He shrugged, his tone as casual as if he were discussing what to have for breakfast.
"Enid! You should have seen it, that technique! Tsk tsk!"
Victor's eyes were startlingly bright, filled with the fervor of an art connoisseur:
"Precise, powerful, fully restricting freedom of movement while perfectly avoiding major blood vessels and nerves... it even had a bit of... stunning geometric aesthetics! I bet she's studied it deeply! Or at least got a perfect score in anatomy!"
Watching him reminisce about the details with such intoxication, Enid's expression went blank before completely slumping.
"Oh..." she muttered, her face falling like a puppy whose favorite bone had been taken away.
But then she secretly cheered herself up. It seemed that at least no terrible NTR plot had happened last night, which was acceptable.
She looked at Victor, who was still bobbing his head.
Enid gave him a massive eye-roll to end the topic. She threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, getting ready to wash up.
Just then, as if suddenly remembering something vital, Victor sprang up from the bed!
"Wait! Chocolate!" His face changed drastically, his voice filled with unprecedented panic. "Where's my chocolate?! I think I dreamed last night that Wednesday was going to feed them to the toilet!"
He frantically searched around his messy little bed like a headless fly, turning the blankets, pillows, and even the underside of the bed upside down.
"It's not here! It's not here! It's nowhere!" His voice took on a sob as he looked at Enid in despair. "Enid! Have you seen my chocolate?! The new Swiss arrivals! And the out-of-print Golden Ticket chocolate! Are they really... are they really..."
He didn't dare voice that terrible suspicion, as if saying it would make it come true.
Seeing Victor looking like the sky was falling, Enid sighed and pointed helplessly at the head of Wednesday's excessively tidy bed:
"There, are those the ones?"
Victor looked where she pointed and saw his bag of precious chocolates sitting perfectly fine on Wednesday's nightstand, arranged even more neatly than when they were in his hands.
On the very top was that intact, gorgeous, vintage Charlie's Chocolate Factory 70th Anniversary Collector's Edition Golden Ticket chocolate.
Victor instantly let out a long sigh of relief, his whole body slumping back onto the bed like his bones had been removed. He clutched his chest, looking like a survivor of a disaster. "Thank God... thank you, Wednesday, for sparing my life... It seems she went soft in the end..."
He crawled over carefully, picking up the chocolate bag like a fragile treasure and clutching it tightly to his chest, a happy and relieved silly grin appearing on his face.
Enid looked at his pathetic display, couldn't help but roll her eyes again, and turned into the bathroom.
Victor sat on the edge of the bed holding his chocolate, the silly grin on his face slowly fading, replaced by a rare, thoughtful focus.
He looked down at the variety of chocolates in the bag, his fingers unconsciously stroking the Golden Ticket chocolate.
"Venom," he asked softly in his mind, "last night... how much did I actually say?"
Venom's lazy voice rang out in his consciousness, accompanied by a post-sleep grumble and a hint of disdain: "Ugh... quite a bit. Whining, shouting, and you leaked quite a few trade secrets... like the locations where you hide your spare chocolates."
Victor: "..."
Venom continued to complain: "And you're a terrible drunk; you threw up all over me. Next time you get drunk, I'm running away from home to team up with that gothic girl. I think she's much calmer than you."
Victor automatically ignored the symbiote's complaints and threats, catching the main point.
He really had said a lot. About the smell of the lab, about the true goal of those "Plague Doctors," about Joseph Crackstone and the possibility of resurrection, and even... hints about Outreach Day and Pilgrim World.
He looked up, his gaze drifting out the window, as if he could see through the walls to the gothic girl who was currently heading somewhere alone, carrying even more mysteries.
A faint smile, completely different from his usual mad and exaggerated ones, slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.
That smile held a sense of clarity and a trace of undetectable... anticipation.
"Pilgrim World, huh..." he whispered to himself, his fingertips lightly tapping the smooth chocolate wrapper. "Sounds like... it'll be a very interesting field trip location."
His eyes became bright once more, but deep within that light, there was a trace of calculation and steadiness more elusive than usual.
"I'll have to make some 'preparations' in advance."