7/20/22
back to home? It's hard to move, but he's able to force himself. Because getting up meant going to school which meant Boris. So he'd fall back asleep two or three or four times, but he could usually drag himself out of bed in time to get to homeroom only five or ten minutes late. No one even stared at him anymore, because he'd been late every single fucking day since freshman year.
Boris would lean in, bump his shoe against Theo's, whisper a cheerful, “Hej!“ as if he'd been waiting for Theo as eagerly as Theo had been waiting for him. And Theo always wanted to apologize, as if he owed Boris something, but he never did, because he didn't owe Boris anything. He'd just smile, and it would be genuine, and he'd shrug and take his seat. Nothing needed to be said. Boris understood. He always did.
Theo knew the height and width and volume of something like love can't be measured, can't be taken apart and examined, but Theo has always loved Boris to some degree. Loved him as his best friend, loved him for being Boris — vivacious, reckless, compassionate Boris, and all the imperfections in between — but it was a love that ran too deep for Theo to see the bottom, and he wasted so much time being afraid to jump in and see if he could swim.
Boris would come home with him in the afternoon. Being with Boris felt more like home than living with his father ever had; his house, his room, his things — they were all so impermanent. In one second, they could be packed up and transported elsewhere, leaving a skeleton of a house with nothing but faded memories ghosting the bare rooms. Theo never truly was home.
Because home wasn't a house, because a house is no more than wood and nails and impermanence and decay. Home was a person, and that person was Boris. All he knew was that flopping over on his bed , dragging Boris down with him as laughter echoed down the halls with a ring — that was happiness. That was home.
“I wish you could just live here,“ Theo said that all the time, as they lay side by side, catching their breath, clothes and hair and sheets mussed from their tussle.
Boris would always agree, serenely, maybe a little wistfully. “My dad probably wouldn't notice.“
“Then stay,“ Theo only admitted that once, because Boris fell quiet afterward, lips pursed, eyes seeing something far away, and Theo couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was a terrifying feeling, like his whole world had been thrown off balance, and Theo had felt a stab of panic — like he'd fucked it up, like they'd never be the same again. He was drawing in a breath to take it back, to pass it off as a joke, when Boris' arms clamped around him again and they rolled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor.
And they stayed that way, wrapped around each other in a tangle of blankets, carpet burning into Theo's elbows, until Boris' stomach growled and they went downstairs for dinner. And Theo held on, just for a few seconds more, until Boris finally pushed out of his arms. Because even though love might not have made sense — might have been something abstract, distant, and terrifying — there was some purely instinctual thing inside Theo that never, ever wanted to let go.
***
They sneak out on Friday nights, just him and Boris. Sometimes they'd just walk around the neighborhood, relishing in the silence, the calm. It felt like they were the only two people left on earth, and Theo always wished it could be that way. Living was hard, but Boris made it seem so easy. Theo would lean into him as they walked, letting their shoulders rest against each other — in those moments with Boris it felt like he could do anything.
Boris always took the lead — maybe because he knew Theo would follow him all night, that Theo didn't care where they were as long as they were together. Boris led them to the park a lot, which was Theo's favorite, because they could sit on the swings for hours and the sky looked fucking gorgeous out in the middle of nowhere, the moon shimmering off the metal of the playset. And that's where Boris led them the night that Theo knew, if nothing else, that the sudden, crazy urge to kiss a boy — his best friend — may not have been normal, but it wasn't something he wanted to let go of.
They sat down on the bench, a little too close, and the dust was swirling lazily around them, shaken up like the sparkles in a snow globe, and they were the center of the universe, the cosmos and the dirt and the breeze revolving around them alone, tying them together, and there was nowhere else in the world Theo wanted to be, and anyone else he wanted to be with.
Boris was fidgeting, almost nervous. Theo couldn't imagine why, couldn't even remember the last time they'd had a reason to be embarrassed in front of each other — if they'd ever had a reason at all.
“We are not normal, are we?“ Boris asked, and no, they weren't and they both knew that so well that Theo didn't bother to answer. They weren't normal, but there was no other word to define them; friends, best friends, it all fell short in the end, and Theo didn't think he wanted to label them at all, because a label meant limits.
Boris laughed to himself softly, his cheeks and nose had gone pink in the cool night air, and Theo couldn't look away.
Boris pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with his lips, as easy as breathing, and lit it with a flick of a matte black Zippo. It was nice, the sound of it, the clink of the lighter, Boris' little sigh when he inhaled his first lungful, the almost noiseless sound of his lips parting around the filter. Even the smoke smelled good, smelled like Boris, and Theo couldn't move away.
Theo didn't even realize he was moving closer until he was huddled against Boris' side. Boris snaked an arm around his shoulders, fingers kneading Theo's upper arm.
They weren't normal, and Theo liked them like that just fine.
They stayed there all night, dozing against each other, until the sky started to glow purple then pink then orange. Sometimes they smoked and sometimes they didn't; their fragmented conversations were never more than a whisper. The first rays of sunlight made Boris' hair almost glow, and the light that reflected in his eyes was so pure and clean and real. They were already pressed so close against each other, but in that moment, all Theo wanted was to get closer, to crawl inside Boris' chest and spend the rest of his life there.
And then Boris turned to look at him, said something about going home before Theo's dad woke up, and Theo's breath caught in his throat, but he wasn't wheezing, wasn't dying; it was a feeling he'd never felt before, never this intense, but it had to have been something that had been thrumming in his heart since the day they met.
This was different, in a way Theo couldn't begin to make sense of, but he knew it didn't kick him in the chest so much as gently cut him open and started stitching together the fragments of his heart. It was soft and steady.
“Potter! Идём, do not fall asleep here!“ Boris was laughing, tugging on Theo's hand. Theo staggered to his feet, ready to follow Boris to the end of the world. And there were no nerves, not this time, because this was Boris and Theo knew he could kiss him without worrying that Boris might not kiss him back.
But he didn't know why that mattered, because they were close, closer than close, but they didn't kiss. Of course Boris would push him away, think it was weird. So Theo pushed the desire away and followed Boris home, where they fell into bed and curled around each other, shaky and sleep—deprived, and that's where they would spend most of their Saturday.
It wasn't until later that Theo realized he couldn't quite look at Boris the same, that he was seeing all the fine details, the imperfections — the angular lines of his face, the gap in his teeth, the subtle dip of old acne scars on his face; the way his eyes reflected the systematic workings of his mind. And he was actually kind of beautiful. When they were all alone and the light was just right, Theo still wanted to kiss him.
***
Theo never got to kiss Boris, not in the way he imagined. He always dreamed of waiting until the perfect moment, when the light was shining through Boris' hair in the way that made him so beautiful, and they'd look at each other and they'd both know, and Theo would lean in and kiss him and Boris wouldn't protest, wouldn't push away, and they'd be together forever. And Theo waited for that moment, waited through the rest of his freshman year, and his sophomore year, and by his junior year, he was terrified that it was too late. And terror soon turned into procrastination, and he woke up one morning and he was seventeen years old and a fucking senior, and Boris was still his best friend — no more, no less.
But they couldn't go on forever, because every single day of Theo's senior year was an ending; The last Thanksgiving they shared, the last time he and Boris would send off college applications together, and as Christmas break drew closer and closer, the terrifying reality that he and Boris might end up on opposite sides of the country was taking hold with full force. He would lie in bed awake at night and tremble, and he felt so trapped, pushed far into a corner. He didn't know how much more he could take before he broke down completely.
But he let time slip by, because he was too scared of change, because what he had with Boris was perfect and he couldn't risk losing it.
But on the last day of the semester, right before Christmas break, Boris grabbed Theo's shoulders and stared into his eyes. They stood there, alone in Theo's driveway as the wind whipped around them, and the kiss Boris laid on his mouth was thick and bitter and laced with smoke. And Theo clung to him, grabbed at his waist and dug his fingers in tight, and he wanted to feel him everywhere, needed him as close as possible, and Theo was in heaven. Boris held him tight, his hands moving desperately, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to hold Theo's face or his neck, and in the end, he settled with raking his fingers through Theo's hair and dragging him even closer. Maybe Boris needed Theo just as badly as Theo needed him.
It ended as abruptly as it started, and all they could do at first was stare at each other and breathe. Boris looked kind of desperate, kind of confused, kind of upset. And when Theo leaned in to kiss him again, it was softer, more reverent, because Theo had never loved him more than he did at this moment.
Theo was shaking when Boris pulled away, nudging past Theo to let himself into the house. By the time they got up to Theo's room everything was back to normal, and they stayed up until the sun began to rise because they were on break and they could do whatever the fuck they wanted.
And when they finally did go to bed, dressed in only their boxers and t—shirts, they still curled up under the same blankets, and pressed their legs together. Boris' fingers traced patterns on Theo's exposed hipbone.
“Things will not change,“ Boris whispered, because he always knew what Theo was thinking; what he was afraid of. “I will always be here.“
And even though kissing him that afternoon already seemed like a dream, Boris didn't resist when Theo leaned in to do it again, kissing a line down his cheek and ending in a gentle flurry against the corner of his lips.
“All my life—“ Theo started, and his voice was shaking like it never had before, and he wanted to give Boris everything, tell him everything — but the look in Boris' eyes told him that he already knew, had always known, and that it was okay.
And as Boris slept, Theo studied his face. He was still so beautiful, so perfect. Theo kissed him one last time, and Boris sighed in his sleep before shifting closer, because he had always, always been Theo's.
***
Things didn't change, didn't become awkward. It didn't even feel right calling what they had a relationship; they were best friends who kissed each other on occasion, who sat a little too close when they stayed up all night watching old movies, who snuggled close and shared a pillow when they finally went to bed. And it was more than Theo had ever dared to dream of, but it seemed so fragile, so fleeting, like a bubble caught in the breeze; its time could end without any apparent cause.
Maybe it was because it was so sudden, so unexplained and unexpected. There were so many things that Theo wanted to ask Boris, but they weren't girls and they couldn't just sit around and talk about their feelings, so Theo stayed quiet. And when they were back in school and it was time for the Winter Formal, he and Boris just showed up together as they always did for any school function. It wasn't a clearly defined date but Theo interpreted it as one anyway, because they would kiss at the end of the night just like any couple.
Except Boris didn't wait until the end of the night, didn't wait until they were away from prying eyes. He kissed Theo in the middle of the dance floor, where they had flocked together to make fun of the sappy couples swaying slowly. There had been a part of Theo that wanted to be one of those couples, to just sway and look into Boris' eyes and forget the world, but Boris had no rhythm and maybe that kind of romance wasn't for them anyway. Maybe they would dance to the music in their heads, which was loud and discordant; just two best friends holding hands and spinning too fast, bumping against each other and staggering into girls in sparkly dresses, who shrieked and got so offended. It was fucking hilarious and this would have been one of the best nights of Theo's life even if Boris hadn't kissed him.
But he did, and Theo didn't know what happened, except that one second they were leaning on each other and laughing breathlessly as some girl and her date stomped away from them, and the next second Boris was kissing him, holding Theo's jaw in his hand, and the world sounded like static and Theo never felt so protected, so invulnerable, and maybe people were laughing or maybe he and Boris were being ignored, but it didn't matter because this was real.
***
Of course people found out; there had never been a time that two boys could make out in a crowded room without people talking about it. And it was all they heard about when they came back to school; it was in everyone's eyes as they stared, in the hushed whispers and loud criticisms.
Theo only had to have his books knocked off his desk four times, three legs subtly stuck out to trip him, and constant shoves in the hallway before he really started thinking he couldn't take it anymore; that maybe the chance to kiss Boris, to feel like a normal kid on a date, wasn't worth this.
But all it took was seeing Boris storming down the all, red—faced and angry, shoving back the people who dared bump into him, to remind Theo that this was all he'd ever wanted — everyone else could go fuck themselves. Because there was no world without Boris, and he'd always be worth it.
And so they left school together, walking side by side to Theo's house in silence. Acknowledging what had happened would mean acknowledging that they had somehow outed themselves, which would mean they were completely, undeniably gay, and this wasn't just some dumb fling, or an awkward moment of intimacy between friends. Theo wasn't sure that was something he was ready to accept.
But Theo also wasn't ready to go home and sit and think, so he turned around, because they had to go somewhere, anywhere — just as long as they weren't surrounded by houses and people, and the two of them could be alone, the way they were meant to be.
And Boris was finally talking, finally smiling, because maybe he had felt it too.
“We are fucked, eh?“ Boris was smiling as he said it, but there was something in his voice. Theo wanted to fix him, hide him, but he didn't know how— he was scared too.
“I don't know. Fuck, maybe.“
Theo wrapped his arms around himself. He suddenly felt so insecure, so small. This thing with Boris — whatever it was — maybe it wasn't even real, but now it stood the chance of ruining his life, making his father hate him, and... fuck. Maybe their whole friendship would fall apart.
“Hey.“ Boris' voice was soft, but determined; strong. “We are in this together, yes?“
Boris had always been able to read his mind like that. Theo felt himself smiling.
“And — I do not regret anything. I would do it all over again, right in front of all those assholes.“ And Boris demonstrated his point, stopping Theo and brushing his lips over his cheek. Theo turned to meet him, wrapping his arms around Boris' shoulders. Theo wanted to spend forever right here, just the two of them in the middle of the desert, — but they couldn't hide forever.
And so when they finally separated, They turned around and headed back towards Theo's house. They were quiet on the walk there, but it was comfortable — every few minutes Boris would reach over and squeeze Theo's hand, and maybe everything really would be fine.
***
He spends the day after graduation laying in bed, and his body aches from lack of movement, his hair is stringy and plastered to his head. It feels like his whole body is coated in layers of sweat and filth. He can't really remember the last time he took a shower, but he can't find the will to do it today, either. He's not going to leave the house, not going to see anyone, so why bother?
Boris is lying across from him, head pillowed on his folded arms, the smallest of sad smiles on his face. The soft sunlight filtering through the window is highlighting the angles of Boris' face, the smooth slope of his back, his shoulders. He's almost glowing, sculpted and ethereal and perfect. That's all Theo needs.
“We're going to be okay.“ Theo didn't know how many times he had said it. Each time it became more and more unbelievable, but Boris seemed like he needed to hear it, and Theo was ready to do anything for him. Because something felt different, now that it was just the two of them, facing the world.
He leaned back and looked at Boris' face, and his eyes were wide with worry. Theo leaned in and kissed his cheek. Boris turned and captured Theo's lips, and it was intense and smoky and completely overwhelming. Theo felt his throat trying to close up but he didn't want to pull away.
And they held onto each other, kissing as if it had the power to make everything okay, and maybe it did — when he pulled back, Theo wasn't so afraid.
Theo kissed him one last time, “We'll be okay, I promise.“
It wasn't a fair thing to promise, but Boris smiled a little anyway.
“Yes. Maybe.“
He took Theo's hand, and Theo's heart was starting to race again.
“Hey,“ he whispered, and it felt so urgent. “I love you, okay?“
And then Boris was smiling for real, and he trailed his fingers down Theo's cheek, letting them rest against his jaw. “Love you too, Potter.“
And at least, whatever happened, they'd face it together.
***
Boris had left in the middle of the night, judging by the empty half of the bed. The house is silent, and Theo feels more alone than ever. There's a weight like a bowling ball in his chest, and it's so hard to breathe, so hard to do anything.
But he pushes himself and staggers out of bed, and it feels so strange to be standing. He's lightheaded and disoriented, as if he hasn't walked in years. It's not true; he'd gotten up just a couple of hours ago to take a piss and wander around the house morosely, looking for Boris with the quiet pitifulness of a kicked puppy. He hadn't found him, and he'd flopped back into bed and clung to the pillows, which still smelled like Boris.
His head is swimming as he makes his way out of his room. He realizes he can't remember the last time he ate something.
They don't have anything ready to eat that isn't junk food except for a couple of apples. Cooking seems impossible, too much effort, and so he grabs an apple and a package of cookies. It's probably not the healthiest meal in the world, but it'll do.
The apple gets discarded on the coffee table when Theo collapses on the couch. He tears open the cookies and takes a tentative nibble, because nothing really tastes good these days. And maybe it's just because he's starving, but somehow they are the best thing he's ever tasted, and he swallows down three more within seconds, with the intention of eating the whole package. For a second he's almost close to happy — or at least content.
And it strikes him, then, how stupid that is. This his life is a waste, that he does nothing but lie around and mope day after day after day, and why the hell should he deserve to get a few seconds of pleasure out of a couple goddamn cookies. Why should he be allowed to get any happiness out of anything?
And he shoves the package away, his mostly empty stomach churning unpleasantly. He feels the cookies burning inside of him, trying to come back up, and he hates himself; hates living like this. Hates living entirely, if he's honest with himself. Which means he shouldn't be eating at all, because he's a waste of space, and nothing's going to get better.
He draws his legs up and buries his face in his knees, ashamed. The feeling of loneliness is gone — suddenly it feels like the whole world can see him, and they're all laughing, because he had the nerve to try to find a second of comfort.
He wants to retreat to his room, to find Boris there waiting for him, arms out to hold him, but he doesn't deserve that either. Regardless, he gets up, leaving the cookies to go stale — already forgotten. He makes his way back to his bedroom, albeit slowly, his trembling hand holding the wall for balance. The bed is empty, and the stab of pain that ripples through his chest is a strange relief, the feeling of getting what he knows he deserves.
And he falls back in bed, exhausted, alone. He wants to get up, stand in the middle of the room and scream for Boris to come back, scream that he needs him, scream until he's out of breath and out of tears, scream until his head explodes from the sheer pain of it all, because it won't matter once Boris is beside him again. But it won't make a difference, Theo knows from experience, because screaming can never make someone come home once they're gone. But waiting is the hardest thing Theo's ever had to do, because he never knows when it'll end, he doesn't know when the time will come that he'll just wait and Boris won't return.
Boris denies it every time Theo brings it up, but that day's coming; Theo can feel it burning threateningly in his chest, a premonition as hot as hellfire. And Boris will lay so close, gaze into his eyes so seriously, remind him again and again that he won't leave — but Theo can't shake the feeling, and his body seizes around a sob. It's a chain reaction after that — Theo can't breathe, he can feel something shattering inside him and it hurts like nothing he's ever felt before, and he needs Boris to come back, needs him right now — but the house remains silent and empty.
It's an unexplainable tension, like there's so much pain building up inside that Theo has to cut himself open and bleed it out, rip off his skin or tear out his hair, anything to bring just a second of relief, but it all seems so hard. Theo can't imagine why he would deserve relief at all. But the room is so stiflingly hot, sweat making his clothes cling to his body. He hates being alone, hates feeling this way, because there's nothing that can help; help isn't even something Theo can imagine accepting. He doesn't want help.
The silence enveloping the house is heavy, and Theo just wants to hear another voice, even if it belongs to fucking Xandra — when did he become so fucking stupid?
“Boris.“ His voice is barely a whisper, wavery and pathetic. He'd give anything just to have Boris there, even if it was just to tell him he was being an idiot.
He imagines Pippa in Texas, making fun of him, hating him. And he thinks maybe he brought it upon himself.
He doesn't intend to fall asleep, but he does. He dreams of winter in New York. The cold is intense but bearable, wind biting into their skin, and Boris is right there in front of him. Their kiss is a cold slide of warm breath. Theo lets his fingers slip up the back of Boris' jacket, inching under the hem of his shirt, and he's so real, so alive and warm and belonging to Theo alone, and Theo wants to cry.
It's a sound that wakes him, a door opening somewhere down the hall and closing quietly, soft footsteps dragging along the carpet. The light clicks off and then there's silence, he's not alone — not yet.
Boris is at his side before he can even sit up, before he can think about calling for him. He settles down next to Theo's side, and they watch each other in the dark of Theo's room.
“I needed you,“ Theo whispers it, and Boris smiles and dips down, aligning himself against Theo, and it feels so right having him there.
“You are not alone.“ And Theo knows he's not. Boris is right by his side, always has been, and Theo drifts to sleep to the feeling of Boris' breath against his cheek.
***
Theo came out to his father.
He wasn't mad, exactly; didn't kick him out of the house. That was the weird thing.
Theo's dad thought it was disgusting, he thought it made Theo less of a man, but he claimed to have known all along, and that's why Theo had “always been such a pussy.“ Xandra, for her part, seemed relatively cool with it; she gave Theo an awkward hug and told him to invite Boris over for dinner, and Theo tried to call him over and over for hours without any luck. That was the first sign that maybe things weren't so okay after all.
He didn't see Boris until three days later, and he was assured that everything was fine; but Boris was smoking more than usual, huddled in on himself. He looked kind of hopeless, kind of stressed.
They were sitting at the park, which had become their spot. Boris always tossed his cigarette butts in the sand instead of the trash can with an ashtray on top, a habit that made Theo cringe. They usually squabbled about it, but today was different. Boris didn't seem in the mood for their lighthearted bickering, didn't seem to be in the mood for anything; like one wrong word would make him storm away. It had already been three days since he had seen him, or talked to him; he didn't want to lose him again. Because those had been the longest days of Theo's life, and he hadn't realized how completely dependent he was on Boris until he was gone.
And all he could do was scoot closer, rest his cheek against Boris' shoulder, and hope that his presence brought as much comfort to Boris as Boris' brought to him. And Boris sighed, letting out a lungful of smoke. He wrapped his arm around Theo's waist and pulled him closer, hugging him tight against his side.
***
That summer was an uncomfortable one. Boris wouldn't say a word, wouldn't open up to Theo at all; the only indication that something had gone horribly wrong was the fact that Boris was suddenly smoking a pack a day, sometimes nearly two. Boris was smarter than that, never did anything in excess, and Theo couldn't get him to fucking talk.
Boris stayed over at Theo's most nights, and every time Theo worked up the nerve to ask what was wrong, Boris would continue to tell him that things were fine, totally normal. As much as Theo wanted to believe him, it was difficult when Boris spent most of his time sitting with his head in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth.
They'd planned a long time ago — before any kind of romantic relationship had even been a consideration — to go to the same college, they'd room together and party and make the most of it. They'd decided on Nevada State, because it was close and convenient, and they could probably do better, but there was something tying them to this stupid town. Maybe neither of them would ever admit it but they weren't quite ready to leave — not yet. But lately, Boris hadn't even wanted to talk about it; he kept his responses short and angry whenever Theo brought it up. Theo didn't know what to do — they were supposed to start in just over two months, but it didn't feel like they were going anywhere at all.
And so Theo waited for Boris to come around, get over whatever was bothering him and get back on track, to start making plans and putting them in motion. But it didn't happen, and it was late June when Theo finally confronted him again, because if they didn't do something now it'd be too late, if it wasn't already.
Boris was spending the night, curled up against Theo's chest — he was breathing with his mouth open, snoring in a way he never really had before, waking himself up every hour or so. He seemed to get frustrated at around five in the morning, and he pulled out of Theo's arms, the sudden cold forcing Theo from the last vestiges of sleep.
Boris looked tired, and irritable; it was probably a bad time, but Theo sat up beside him and bumped their naked shoulders together. Boris leaned into him, combed his fingers through Theo's hair, and he seemed to be drifting off again when Theo said, “Please talk to me.“
“Now? God, Potter, am barely awake.“ He sounded like he was talking in his sleep, quiet and mumbly. Theo almost wanted to back off so they could curl up and fall back asleep in their warm spot, but thoughts of school had been making him panic, his eyes kept flying open in terror every time he started to drift off. Because this was about so much more than school; he had never seen Boris this worked up over something, it was worrisome and scary and Theo wanted to put an end to it.
“I'm worried about you.“
“Oh fuck, not this again.“ Boris pressed his forehead against Theo's shoulder and pushed out a long—suffering sigh, because he knew exactly how to make Theo leave him alone — but this time Theo wasn't going to let it work.
And so he pushed. And they stayed up for another hour, going around in circles, Boris brushing him off while Theo pried. Boris opened up a little more each time, until he was finally leaning against Theo's pillows with his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, sobbing tearlessly, everything he'd bottled up this whole time coming out in a hiccuping rush.
His father wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't even look at him. Apparently, his father had found out about him and Theo through one of his workers, and the last conversation he'd had with Mr. Pavlikovsky was a screaming fight, which ended with him punching Boris so hard he'd been knocked out. And Boris hadn't bothered to apply for scholarships or loans because he thought his father would pay for his college, and he had little money to his name, and he was so fucked, so fucked, and that was all he could say, over and over, as Theo cuddled up beside him and hooked an arm over his chest.
“It's okay.“ For a long time that was all Theo could offer, stroking Boris' neck and calming him down, whispering it into his hair. And when Boris' sobs had softened into quiet little hitches of breath, suddenly words started flowing for Theo, words he hadn't even thought through, but they were enough to make Boris lift his arm from his eyes and sneak a curious, hopeful glance.
“We could get an apartment,“ Theo was saying, in a hushed, conspiring whisper. “Just something cheap, you know? Just so we can save up some money and get the fuck out of here, and just — God, my dad's ready for me to move out anyway, so he can turn my room into a fucking man cave or something.“
And suddenly they were dreaming like they were thirteen again; They'd get an apartment, and it'd be so fucking cool because they could stay up late and watch movies all night; It would be all fun, no rules, just the two of them doing whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Theo couldn't remember a time when there had been anything more he wanted out of life. They'd get jobs, something simple, enough to pay the rent, and they could just live.
And it was either the fatigue talking, or Boris actually thought it was a good idea, because he was smiling and contributing, eager to put space between him and his father, and he kept telling Theo how perfect it would be, how fucking perfect, and they could just wait to go to college when they were ready; there'd be no need to rush if they already had everything they'd ever wanted.
And so Theo swore to run the idea by his father in the morning, see if he and Xandra could offer even just a little help, and then fuck college — fuck school and books and studying and getting up early. He was going to spend every fucking day of his life going to sleep next to his best friend, kissing each other awake. And in that moment Theo felt almost weightless, a happiness in his chest that he hadn't felt in years.
***
Their plans had made perfect sense at five o'clock in the morning, when they had held each other and exchanged sleep—deprived dreams of two desperate teenagers. What didn't make sense the following morning, when Theo's father had thought it was a good idea, agreed to help out as long as he and Boris promised to get jobs, and suddenly it was all happening. While everyone else they knew packed up and headed to college, he and Boris were looking for somewhere affordable to live and applying for jobs, and it was too real and terrifying and wonderful all at once.
What they found was a shithole in Henderson, an apartment no one had rented in years. The landlord offered them the first month free and no security deposit just to get people living in it. And it was the last place in the world they wanted to live in, so far away from what they had imagined, and Theo had felt the pulls of despair starting to sink in. He hadn't felt that kind of heaviness since he was thirteen; thought he had completely escaped from it, numbing the feeling behind pills.
But now, looking at their ramshackle apartment with holes in the wall, mismatched paint, and stained carpeting, knowing it was the only place he and Boris would be able to afford — he just wanted to go home, to his real home, with his mother, to curl up in his bed in New York and live there forever. Suddenly the real world seemed like too much too soon.
And they slept on it, talked about it; Boris was so determined to get away from his father that suddenly Theo found himself signing a lease, and holy shit this was really happening. Theo's dad spent a lot of time helping them fix things up before they moved in — they spackled and repainted the walls, steamed the carpets, and fixed everything that needed fixing. By fall, it was deemed ready to move in.
It still looked like shit, but Boris seemed excited. A smile glimmered just barely over the top of the stress that had been weighing him down. Theo wanted to be happy with him, wanted to hold him in the middle of their new living room, wanted to be able to stare at him and feel completely confident in starting their life together.
And when Boris pulled Theo into his arms, held him close and kissed him, he thought maybe everything would be alright, Boris assured him over and over that he'd like it better once they'd moved their stuff in, and made it their own, and Theo believed him.
Theo kept to himself, hid out at his father's while Boris made trip after trip to their new apartment, organizing and getting things ready. He spent more time with his father during the next few weeks than he had what felt like his entire life, watching TV with him, and staying up late hugging his legs to his chest and talking to him about nothing.
As the days went by, Theo slowly packed up his things. He hadn't seen Boris in days and he was so worn out, so overwhelmed with change. He tried to focus on Boris, just Boris, because he made everything okay, because he'd always, always have Boris.
***
The sun was shining when Theo pulled up to the apartment. Despite being the shittiest piece of property Theo had ever seen, it seemed almost different now; special.
This was it.
This was home.
Theo got out of his father's old minivan and hurried to the door, which had been left unlocked, just for him. He let himself in and Boris was right there, waiting for him.
“Potter!“ He was smiling like he hadn't seen Theo in years; his face light and perfect and free from all the pain and worry that Theo had grown so used to seeing there. “Took you long enough.“
“Sorry.“ His voice cracked and he didn't even know why, because everything was fucking perfect for once. And Boris was babbling but Theo could barely hear him, going on about needing to show Theo the bedroom, get his opinion on the drapes, and oh God they were going to have to do something about the wallpaper in the bathroom because it was fucking awful.
But Theo cut him off, halfway into his speech about pulling up the carpet, which was stained beyond repair. He pulled Boris against him, and held him as tight as he could. And it was quiet except for their breathing, and Boris let out a peaceful sigh, his arms hooking around Theo's waist.
“Am just glad you are here,“ Boris said into Theo's neck, lips brushing against his skin.
And Theo was, too. Because even if they didn't get the place fixed up, even if they had to live with torn wallpaper and stained carpet and a toilet that didn't flush when it rained, that would be okay. Because he knew he'd be with Boris forever, right here, in their shared piece of heaven.
***
It's hard to move. It's always hard to move. It's been hard since Theo was thirteen years old; when the radio alarm clock blares, he doesn't think he can move, not again, not today. He falls back asleep two or three or ten more times, sleeps until the sun is high and burning his face, making his eyelids glow red, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.
He sleeps until Boris comes in and whispers against his skin, but he doesn't move, can't move, as Boris coaxes him with promises of breakfast, even though it has to be past noon. Eggs, toast, bacon, anything he wants — the world is his, and it's a beautiful day.
“Come on, Potter.“ Boris sounds like heaven, and it's enough to make Theo open his eyes. He flinches back from the sudden burst of light, hitting his eyes like a thousand needles, and it hurts to be alive.
Boris is perched on the edge of the bed, glowing in the light, and he's beautiful. He smiles, just a little. When Theo meets his eyes, he repeats, “Anything you want.“
Theo reaches for him. “I want you to stay,“ he whispers. It's so shaky that Boris shouldn't have been able to understand it, but he lies down, his face inches away from Theo's, eyes soft.
“Please stay.“ He doesn't know why he's begging but the words are spilling out like tears. And yet Boris' gaze is so understanding, so gentle and strong and perfect, that Theo feels so fucking safe falling apart in front of him. He's a puzzle that Boris has put together a million times, and he's the only one who can, because all the edge pieces are missing and Boris keeps them hidden in his pocket.
“I love you so much,“ Theo tells him. It's the only thing in his life he's been sure of.
Boris' strength falters, just enough for Theo to notice, and he breathes, “I love you too, Potter. I will not leave, I cannot leave.“ And that's enough.
Boris is in the kitchen, and it's 10:45 when Theo slumps into one of the old rickety chairs in the dining room. There's a sudden metallic clatter against the table, and it rings extra loud through Theo's tired head. He jerks back, alert; his heart is slamming but he calms down in an instant, and he hates himself for being afraid.
“Breakfast,“ Boris says. Theos fingers tingle with longing.
It's always strange when Boris cooks — if it can even be called cooking. Theo doesn't think it's something he'll ever get used to. Breakfast consists of untoasted bread, an antidepressant, and a whole grapefruit, unsliced, a knife balanced precariously on the edge of the table where Boris lost hold of it, and Theo thinks it's perfect, more than he deserves.
“I'll get you something to drink—“ Boris starts, and Theo interrupts him.
“I've got it.“ But neither of them move, neither of them will, and Theo swallows the pill dry.
It seems like a dream, they were only a couple of trashy kids who knew nothing — nothing except that they were two halves of the same soul. They used to think that was the only thing that mattered, that the rest of the world would just fall into place as long as they were together.
Theo picks the crust off his bread and meets Boris' eyes, and he still thinks nothing else matters.