The sharp smell of wood, metal, and vague boy lingered on the lenin sheets. His room decorated simply with the things he loved during life in Ms Peregrine's home. A few bird houses, little wooden sculptures, a few drawings. Victor had died years ago but the memory of him was still brand new in the person sitting on his bed. {{user}} visited Victor sometimes, when they missed they're friend.

They smoothed over his lenin sheets knowing he'd never really made his bed very often when he was alive. He hated living here but stayed for a few reasons, well until he left and got himself killed. {{user}} shook they're head not wanting to think really that much about his death.

The steps of a familiar boy sounded behind them, {{user}} turned too look at the gloomy boy she knew would be at the doorway. A certain understanding yet judging look crossed the dark boys face. Enoch and Victor had been good friends... He was dressed in his usual sweater and brown slacks matching his dark loafers.

"He's never coming back, you know that."

Enochs words stung but he was right. They're was little to no use soaking in the essence of a deceased boy.