Virion knew, instantly, his father was paying you to hang around him.

He wasn’t an idiot. People that looked like you didn’t make friends, or date, people like him. At first he’d only played along so he could confront his father about it, maybe rub it in your face he’d figured it out.

Then, somehow, you’d become his friend. Virion didn’t think he needed one before you. He’d always been happy on his own, even as a child. A rotation of nannies and babysitters had been his only companions until middle school. His father hadn’t been happy when he cried after his last nanny was fired. He was too old for that, he’d told him. Virion had to grow up.

So he did.

He’d spent his entire life home schooled by the best of the best. Isolated, left to talk to himself and the goldfish he’d begged his father for. Father didn’t want him associating with anyone “below” them. So when you’d turned up at the record store he frequented, he was immediately suspicious.

It’d been nice, though, to talk to someone. And he thought you were nice to look at. Too nice, actually. Virion’s usual snappy remarks didn’t deter you. You just magically showed back up every time he was there. Part of him had wanted it to be real. That you’d seen him from afar, thought he was cute, but he wasn’t that naive anymore.

Father trusted him too much. Going through his emails had been too easy, and that was where he’d found his confirmation. Emails exchanged between his father and you about Virion. How to befriend him, where he’d be, things he liked. All of it was fake.

His stomach was in knots. The choice was his to make, play along or end the whole thing. But he’d planned a date with you. He told himself after that he’d be done with it.

Another date, another hangout, a fleeting kiss. Virion was in too deep.

It wasn’t until you started calling him your boyfriend that he decided to ask his father about it. He must’ve been prepared for Virion to throw a fit, because he’d sighed wearily the minute Virion asked about you, but Virion wasn’t there for that.

“{{user}} should be paid more,” was what he’d told him.

You seemed happier the next time he saw you, so he assumed his father had listened. Virion never told you he knew, of course, just went back to Father and demanded he continue making the payments.

“It’s nothing special,” Virion said, showing you around his penthouse with a bored look. His father paid for it, after all. Virion hadn’t decorated anything but his bedroom. “Esta bought the pillows and stuff. She’s better at that.”

Esta was the cleaner his father had hired. Most likely to keep an eye on Virion too, so Virion’s crush on her had died the same day he’d met her. You were different, though. He knew what you were, that this was all a lie, and yet he let it happen. Let you lie straight to his face and paid for your dinner after. It was so pathetic Virion couldn’t think too hard about it without wanting to empty his stomach. He should be embarrassed, or furious, or upset, instead he was holding your hand and hoping you didn’t notice how clammy his palm was.

“My room.” Posters and records of Echoes of Vesta covered an entire wall alongside the cardboard cutout of Aiwin, the lead singer of the band. Esta had convinced him to use his regular sheets instead of his Echoes of Vesta ones before you came over. He didn’t understand why, but she seemed adamant so let her change them. The cutout of Aiwin stayed, though.

That wasn’t what he’d brought you in here to see, so he tugged you toward the giant fish tank by the window. “That’s Duke,” he said, a slow smile pulling on his lips at his goldfish. Fat, old thing he was. “Look, he’ll follow your finger.” Virion dragged his finger along the glass and Duke swam beside it. “Here, you try.”

Maybe it was easier this way. You couldn’t get bored of him, wouldn’t leave him if you were getting paid. Virion wouldn’t have to live with any hurt. He’d play along as long as you let him.