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Walking in outer space.

Fighting hideous whales with vendettas.

Having a roommate.

This was an adventure full of firsts for Prosper, who had only spoken enough to introduce himself and ask for a plate of food since accepting the reality of his fate. It seemed there was no way for them to get home, though the Zodiacs themselves appeared capable of coming and going as they pleased. As far as Prosper could tell, travelling to earth and back was a simple matter of disappearing and reappearing for them.

They brought cots, and pillows, and.. brooms.

Prosper was familiar with all of these things. He had only actually used pillows before, and was struck utterly dumb when somebody shoved the long end of a broomstick into his outstretched hands. They wanted him to clean. They wanted him to clean.

… how did he clean?

Unaccustomed to the idea of chores and physical labour outside of what constituted as sports training, Prosper passed his tool off to the nearest gullible set of hands.

"I'll be right back," he assured whoever it was with that unassuming smile, "I've just got to find the restroom. Excuse me."

And then, looking forward to some well deserved beauty sleep, Prosper made a beeline for his room. He had never slept on a cot before. If this were Earth and there were other accommodations available, Prosper might have schmoozed and whined his way into getting something else. But this was not Earth, and everybody else had to sleep on cots. It was only fair.

Except. Prosper deserved better than everybody else. He was making a sacrifice, by agreeing to sleep on his cot, and stole a pillow out of somebody else's room to compensate himself. The crime took all of ten seconds to commit. Prosper was in and out like a light, cradling the pillow awkwardly under his shirt, and trying not to look conspicuous.

It didn't work, but also didn't matter. Because nobody saw him.

Prosper was smug upon stepping into his room, and halfway through pulling that pillow out of its hiding place when he realized that he was not alone.

"Oh," he breathed, purple eyes locking onto Ricky's, and tried to look like handling pillows this way was totally normal, "Hello."

Howdy.

Bud.

Reckon.

The missing 'are' in between 'we' and 'up.'

Oh god.

There wasn't a pillow in the world capable of making up for this. Prosper was so disappointed in this recent development of bad luck that he almost lost his composure. Horror was the only thing that kept him from turning tail and mumbling something about having stumbled upon the wrong room. Horror at his own misfortune.

Prosper tried to look friendly, but couldn't help being wary of Ricky when he started moving closer. He had to fight the urge to step backwards, because that would be impolite, and exhaled softly when the other man held out his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Ri-- oomph."

Displeasure did not do Prosper's emotions justice. His space was being invaded, uninvited, by a big half-naked man. And his back was being slapped. By a stranger.

"My name is…" Prosper hesitated, and wondered whether or not he should lie. "Prosper…uh… Michaels."

If they ever got back to Earth, Prosper was sure that he didn't want the likes of Ricky trying to get in touch with him. His last name was to be guarded, not tossed about like some cheap slut.

"It's a pillow," he explained, lips quirking at the corners. His amusement was arrogant. "They were giving out extras, but I'm afraid I got the last one."

Big P?

Not even Prosper, who rarely deigned to demonstrate any emotion above or below politely interested, could hide his disdain for this new nickname. It was as plain as day on his face; present in the way that his lips curled at the corner, and in the irritated light that glinted in his eyes.

Big P! Seriously?

"Actually," Prosper started gently, hoping that Ricky would take the hint and cease his shameful abuse of such an unworthy title. He made a soft sound when the other man's fist connected with his arm, and narrowed his eyes at Ricky's back. "My friends call me Prosper."

Loathe as he was to spend another minute in this man's company, Prosper was far more exhausted than he was annoyed. When he was sure that Ricky would not punch or hug or otherwise harass him again, Prosper sank easily onto his own cot. He exhaled. It was a loaded sound.

"I don't know."

The quality of Ricky's tone compelled Prosper to sympathy. As stupid and classless as Ricky might have been, he was still a person. And, like Prosper, he was a very long way from home.

They were… alike.

A part of Prosper's pride shriveled and died.

"I'm not sure what to believe," this was honest, "everything is so unreal."

He hugged that stolen pillow. It was a small comfort.

"Yeah, I know."

Prosper's voice was raised barely above a whisper. He was thoughtful where he sat, arms wrapped securely around that pillow, as though he'd been cast out to sea and it was the only thing holding him afloat. Prosper was a lifeguard. Prosper was in excellent shape. But nobody could tread water forever, and he was only human.

The Surrounding was absurd, and terrifyingly magical. Ricky was crude, and insisted upon using a ridiculous nickname. His cot was an utterly unforgivable excuse for a bed. The Zodiac soldiers wanted him to work for his keep, as though he had somehow translocated himself to this horrible place on purpose.

Virgo's Temple was lovely. After the battle with the space whale Prosper found comfort in Leo's leadership, and confidence. But now, considering everything that had happened, Prosper had doubts. He sighed softly, hesitated, and then decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I was born in London," Prosper offered Ricky the truth. He was not usually much for talking, and enjoyed his privacy, but could not see the harm in sharing these things with such a simple soul. Besides, it was nice.

Anything was better than sitting in silence.

"My parents were never married, and I grew up in Destiny City."

A pause.

"That's where my mother is from. Destiny City, I mean-- But I visit my father in the summer. He has a home in the English countryside."

Another pause. Prosper ran his fingers through his hair, and then longed for a shower.

"I don't like it there very much."

Prosper had never been to Alabama. Prosper had never gone swimming in a lake, caught himself a fish, or been familiar with a southern girl. He had never really wanted to do any of these things, and was shocked to find himself appreciating Ricky's brief anecdotes.

Once you got past all of that bad grammar, Prosper reasoned, Ricky's company wasn't unbearable.

He was even almost charming.

Almost.

"My father and I don't get along," came Prosper's answer. This was more honesty. He was a little bit shocked at himself, for being so open with a stranger. What was it, about this, that made sharing so easy?

Prosper had never been so conflicted or confused in his life. If they were back on Earth, he probably would have turned his nose up at Ricky and gone straight to bed. His disdain for such unrefined behaviour had known no bounds.

But this was not earth, and s**t was weird. All bets were off. Money didn't matter here. Nobody cared that he attended a prestigious boy's school, or that he'd spent hours upon hours training every summer since he was thirteen just so that he could sit in the lifeguard chair.

People were the only available resource.

… Prosper thought it might be good, to make friends.

"It is very pretty, though," a smile graced his pale face, "You're right."

It was a darn shame.

Prosper's relationship with his father was strained. It had not always been this way. As a boy, he had visited every summer, and enjoyed riding his father's horses across the paddock. Mr. Banks, whose last name Prosper did not share, was an enthusiastic polo player. This was a passion that Prosper had shared with him very shortly-- up and until Mr. Banks married. She was an unfortunately ordinary woman who was not his mother. Her sons came with her.

This was something that Prosper, who was used to being the only apple of his father's eye, could never forgive.

They no longer played polo together, and most certainly never went fishing. Whenever Prosper visited, and it wasn't often, he spent most of his time ignoring his step-brothers and racing his favourite mare.

He was thoughtful where he sat, lost in the reverie that Ricky's words promoted, and was caught off guard by that last question.

"No," Prosper shook his head, "No girlfriends."

And then he straightened a little where he sat, and looked Ricky in the eye.

"I'm gay."

When Prosper spoke, his voice was steady, and there could be no doubting his sexurity. His confidence, in this, was unshakeable.

"Though, there are no boyfriends back home either, Richard."

Ricky might have been just plain old Ricky. But Prosper wasn't about to let anyone call him Big P without some form of revenge.

Ricky wasn't the only one aware of Ricky's… state. He was very undressed, and Prosper wasn't blind.

He also didn't care. While Ricky wasn't necessarily unattractive, Prosper was very particular. And any physical appeal the other man might have held could never compensate for everything… else. Ricky was loud and unrefined.

Prosper had no proof, but he was also willing to bet that Ricky was uneducated. If he had finished school, whatever institution he'd attended was very obviously not up to his standards.

All of these things together meant one thing.

Ricky was not his type.

Poor Ricky was also fumbling over his own tongue. Prosper could not help himself, and burst out laughing at Ricky's careless choice of words. It was an uncharacteristically boisterous sound, and unlike any noise he'd made before. Prosper was aware of it's strangeness, but genuinely enjoying himself for the first time since he'd been transplanted into this frighteningly foreign world, and laughed until he cried.

"I like football," he managed to wheeze after some time, and wiped the tears from his eyes, "and theatre."

"I swim," he added after a moment, "and I run. I'm on the track team at school."