can you say it out loud?

Boris’ eyes catch sight of one box that had been left untouched, on the coffee table in the living room. Unlike the others, it’s unmarked. A plain brown box, not large nor small. He frowns, and assumes it’s Theo’s. He knows he shouldn’t look through it, but before he knows it he’s on his feet and the box is immediately opened.
The first thing he sees is an old letter, “Boris” scrawled haphazardly on the front in Theo’s handwriting. It’s laying on top of a few other random items, old shoes and college books mostly. The envelope has a small logo of the hotel he stayed at in Amsterdam, and his heart sinks to the floor.

Notes:

this has been unfinished for months and i just wanted to get it out there so.... enjoy.

Work Text:

Theo had gone out to Hobie’s to do some work. Some business to attend to , he said. He’d woken up earlier than usual, the movements he made getting up causing Boris to open his eyes just a crack, peering at Theo where he sat facing the other way as he rooted through the drawers in his bedside table for a pair of socks.

It was some sort of reflection of when he used to see him getting ready for school in Vegas, drunkenly stumbling out of bed and hopping on one foot in an attempt to get a decent pair of trousers on. He’d picked up Boris’ clothes from the floor accidentally from time to time , as he always used to say. Boris would make no effort to move, because Theo cared about getting to school on time a fraction more than he did. He’d pick up his glasses as an afterthought, and he’d always frown after realising he should’ve put them on as soon as he woke up.

You look like shit, Potter.

He really didn’t.

Speak for yourself.

He’s older now, though. A grown up version of the Theo he once knew. He doesn’t drunkenly stumble out of bed in a rush of hysteria and trip over Popchyk who was running around his ankles and yapping at every giggle that escaped Boris’ lips. Instead he seems more solemn, but calm, giving himself time to breathe. Boris continues to pretend that he’s asleep, watching as he pulls his sweater over his head and adjusts it after a brief glance in the mirror. He smiles to himself, what a delight to wake up to this every morning.

But, you must know — it’s not like that.

They have an apartment in New York, an agreement they’d come to after Theo had spent some time travelling by himself. He needed to clear his head, and everyone around him knew that just as well, but it was always inevitable that he would end up back in New York. It was his home, after all. He’d grown up there and he always knew he’d come back. They — Boris and Theo — had decided to come back together and share an apartment whilst they figured some things out. Boris wanted to put his crime days behind him since it became a threat to his life, and more importantly, a threat to Theo’s life.

He vanished from the room soon enough, and Boris hears the front door shut softly behind him, an effort to not wake his friend despite the fact that he was wide awake already. There are still some boxes left scattered around that haven’t been unpacked, so Boris decides he’s going to make an effort to put everything away before Theo returns. Potter will appreciate my efforts, I hope. Maybe I will even make dinner. Boris soon shakes his head at the thought, because the last time he tried to make dinner he almost set everything on fire. Theo always does the cooking for the both of them whilst Boris sits on the counter giving scraps to the dog, just how it had always been.

He spends most of the day unpacking his own stuff, not that he had a lot of it. He gets the urge to sell or throw away most of it because the way he had purchased the items hadn’t exactly been moral, either that or they were stolen. He has very little possessions that have any meaning to him, as long as he has clothes on his back, a roof over his head, maybe some alcohol, and Theo… he’ll get by just fine.

He continues to sort through things with the music channel playing on the television in the background, humming occasionally when a song he recognised starts playing. Stopping frequently to give Popchyk a fuss or to skim over a chapter in each new book he’d find among the boxes. He even finds his old copy of The Idiot, on flicking through he sees all of his annotations he had made when he was a teenager and surprisingly, some from Theo. He assumes he’d made them when Boris had leant him the book one time and tried to translate some of it. Random words were picked out and scribbled next to them were the english translations in Theo’s unmistakable handwriting. Boris smiles to himself, memories of reading it to him to help him fall asleep on nights where he couldn’t lay still.

Boris’ eyes catch sight of one box that had been left untouched, on the coffee table in the living room. Unlike the others, it’s unmarked. A plain brown box, not large nor small. He frowns, and assumes it’s Theo’s. He knows he shouldn’t look through it, but before he knows it he’s on his feet and the box is immediately opened.

The first thing he sees is an old letter, “ Boris” scrawled haphazardly on the front in Theo’s handwriting. It’s laying on top of a few other random items, old shoes and college books mostly. The envelope has a small logo of the hotel he stayed at in Amsterdam, and his heart sinks to the floor.

His hands shake as he attempts to carefully open the envelope without ripping it. Is addressed to me? I must be allowed to open it. Potter won’t mind. There are two pieces of lined paper in there, completely covered in writing, and on first glance Boris immediately knows what it is. His legs give in underneath him ever so slightly and he sits perched on the edge of the sofa, with his elbows on his knees and a frown on his face, he begins to read.

Dear Boris,

I’ve been putting off writing your letter because I knew it would be the most difficult to write. I am extremely sorry that I’m writing it and that you are reading it, but a part of me always knew the time would come. I know that, out of anyone, you were probably the most aware of what I was going through (or, am going through. But it’ll be over soon.) — and I don’t remember all too clearly, but there are fragments and little pieces that resurface from time to time, and I feel this immense guilt for throwing all of that on you. You didn’t deserve that, at all. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, sometimes my mind tells me I’ve ruined your life by just being in it, but I hope that’s not completely true — because the only times I’ve been truly happy in the past ten years are the times when you’ve been by my side. I just want you to know that. Please, never forget it.

As dumb as it sounds, you were really like a little flicker of light in a world that had become complete darkness for me. I was absolutely certain that I would never allow myself to be happy again because of what I did, but when I was with you I let myself smile. I let myself laugh. I let myself be who I always knew I was supposed to be (to an extent), and I think you knew that. I could tell you knew, and that terrified me, but it also made me feel at ease because you seemed so okay with it. You might not realise exactly what I’m talking about, but I still don’t have the courage to put it plainly, so I hope you understand all the same. Perhaps I should just come out and say it since I quite honestly have nothing to lose at this point, but there’s this voice in the back of my head giving me every reason why I shouldn’t.

I wanted to talk about it, Boris. I really did. It tore me apart, more than I like to admit. I spent nights upon nights with my back turned to you wishing you’d bring it up and we could’ve talked it over, but I knew that even if you did we’d probably brush it off and call it nothing because we were young. We were young and afraid of what the world would say to us if it knew. I can’t speak for your own feelings, maybe it was just convenient for you that I was there. I don’t know. I hated not knowing. I guess I still had a bit of hope in me that it wasn’t just me being this way, that you felt it too… but when you brought it up in that bar, I couldn’t take it. I spent years trying to forget, but when I saw you again, everything just came back. I don’t know if you brushed it off because you were afraid, too. Or did it truly mean nothing?

Maybe you can let me know in another universe, Boris. Since my time in this one is running short. I hope you can forgive me for everything that I have put you through. I just need you to know that you always made me feel safe. I always felt okay in your arms, whispering nonsense in Polish in my ear. I remember one time in particular, where I’d had one of my awful nightmares — and you just held my hand in your own. It was then I understood something. I understood that I loved you. And I still do. I always will.

And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I never said it out loud.

Look after Popchyk for me, okay?

I just need to be with her. I hope you understand that.

All my love,

Potter.

“Boris?”

He’s not aware he’s been crying until he hears his voice. It takes him a few moments for him to tear his eyes away from the writing, quickly wiping away the few tears that had escaped he sniffles and quickly folds the paper in half. He looks at Theo who had stopped in his tracks halfway into the square shaped living room, he’d just gotten home; pink cheeks and nose from the cold, his coat hanging over the back of one of the wooden chairs (one he had restored himself), still swinging slightly from the momentum. Boris doesn’t explain anything, he didn’t have to — because Theo’s eyes had caught the empty envelope lying on the coffee table next to the open box, and he immediately understands.

There’s a silence between them, the most heartbreaking silence that they had ever shared. Theo is completely still, like some sort of marble statue frozen in time and space, somewhere between life and death. It’s true that Theo Decker has never truly felt alive, perhaps on the odd occasion where the adrenaline would be a shock big enough to wake him up and bring him back to reality, but other than that he always falls to an invisible middle ground — somewhere where he can communicate with his mother somehow, and also Boris. But both connections are too weak if he wants to stay where he is, and the guilt of sacrificing one in favour of the other will be enough to completely break him.

“You didn’t try to do it, did you?”

He doesn’t have to ask because he already knows the answer, he just needs to hear Theo say it. Maybe he can just lie to him to make it hurt less. Fucking lie to me, Potter. Tell me it isn’t true.

“Boris, I—” Theo clears his throat after a long, uncomfortable pause. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“Theo, please.” Boris has a look of desperation in his eyes, fingers covered in rings running through his hair, a few steps away from pulling it out. “Tell me you didn’t try to do it.”

Theo steps forward, stopping and starting a few times, looking like he doesn’t know how to explain it without making it seem worse than it is. “Look, I’d never—” He anxiously crosses his arms over his white shirt and slowly shakes his head. “I’d never do that now, you know? That was… it was when all that shit was happening and I just—”

He doesn’t have to say any more. Boris understands. “So you tried, no?”

Theo makes eye contact with him for the first time since he had arrived home and they look at each other for a few long moments. The sun is setting, there’s an orange glow cast across the carpet on the floor. They should be cooking dinner soon. “I’m sorry, Boris.”

“Well, fuck… Potter I— you must stop with the apologising, okay? You have done nothing wrong. The idea of this may be hurting me, but you were hurting, Theo. You do not have to give me endless apologies for how you feel. It can not be changed. All we can do is try to make it better, and I know I am rambling now because— yes, I’m just trying to process it. Back in Vegas I know I had to drag you out of the road on multiple occasions, saving you from yourself, but I did not know that you still wanted to—” Boris inhales sharply after saying so much at once, almost grabbing the arm of the sofa to steady himself. “I never should've left you”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I still should have been there.”

“You couldn’t have been.”

“I could have tried!”

The two of them fall into a silence again after Boris had slightly raised his voice, Theo is nothing short of surprised by how much this has upset him. Boris looks away from his old friend, who can clearly see his eyes that are filling with more and more tears by the second. He’s trying not to cry. He’s trying so hard not to cry it looks like it hurts. Boris isn’t one to cry. Theo doesn’t know what to do. He’s usually the one who needs comforting, and Boris always knows exactly how to make things feel at least a little better. He never really had to comfort Boris, because Boris rarely got visibly upset. Angry, maybe. Not upset.

Theo sighs and tentatively steps forward, being all too aware of the wooden floor making light creaks under his shoes. “Hey, listen.” He says quietly, sitting down next to Boris; not too close but not too far away. He pauses again, placing his hands on his knees, then decides he must look a little too tense and angles himself towards Boris, trying to make himself look more comfortable. Boris still isn’t looking at him, so he turns his gaze to his hands that are folded in his lap. “I don’t know what was going through my head, I rarely ever did.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t sometimes. I’m just glad I’m here with you now, and we’re okay.”

Theo knows Boris has turned to look at him now, and he thinks that maybe he sat a little too close to him— but that isn’t what he should be worrying about right now. When has it ever been a problem before? They shared a bed when they were younger, even now they have no problem sharing the same mattress since it was what the apartment came with and neither of them had the energy to change it. That’s not it, though. Is it? No. it’s not. At some point there was a silent agreement between the two of them that they would rather not sleep alone after everything they've been through, and they’ve been okay with it ever since. So, why Theo is conscious of Boris’ closeness in this particular situation, he doesn’t know.

The setting sun hits his’ face, giving his scarred skin an amber glow. Theo’s heard the story behind each one, and he could probably repeat them if anyone asked. He’s traced his fingers over them before, he doesn’t remember exactly when, or why, but a strange fragment of a memory comes back to him. Boris being aware of it, but just letting it happen as he pretended to sleep. This has happened when they were teens, and a few times in this very apartment. Being encased in a comfortable silence as Theo just let the tips of his fingers journey across the angles of Boris’ face, and sometimes Theo would notice a small smile on his lips— if he was lucky.

Boris’ expression softens, and it reminds Theo of how he looked seconds before he kissed him just as he was about to leave all those years ago. “It just seems crazy that your life meant so little to you when it has always meant everything to me.”

Theo swallows the lump in his throat, and he realises that’s exactly the problem. He’s never wanted to mean anything to anyone, at least… ever since that day. He doesn’t feel like he deserves to; but there’s Boris. There’s always been Boris, and he feels like there always will be Boris. He knows how much he cares about him, and the thought of it makes Theo’s head spin like the ceiling fan he remembers staring at for hours on end back in Vegas. Earphones, his mother’s favourite music, probably high as a fucking kite, Boris laying next to him— neither of them saying a word. Theo knows he likes Boris so much because he has always managed to understand Theo without him having to say anything, but unfortunately… he knows he owes him an explanation. Or something, at least.

“Life rarely appealed to me, as strange as it sounds.” Theo starts, taking a long pause afterwards. He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to say to him. What is there to say when your best friend has just read your old suicide note addressed to them, in which you confess your feelings that you’ve repressed for years? Theo has absolutely no idea. “I didn’t enjoy it or hate it, I just thought… I’m here now, I’ve gotta do my time like everyone else. Even when I was a kid. But my mom, she was… I don’t know… she just made everything worth it, you know?”

Boris smiles sadly, and slowly nods. If anyone understands how much Theo’s mother meant to him, it’s Boris. “She is very proud of you, Potter. I know she is.”

Theo still feels too afraid to make eye contact with Boris. He knows what he wrote in that letter, he almost remembers every word despite the state he was in when he composed it. He convinces himself that if he keeps looking down at his hands, he won't have to face up to it, or Boris won't even ask. Maybe there’s a chance he doesn’t understand what I was trying to say.

He decides that the chance of that is small when Boris takes his hand in his own.

It’s not quick and impulsive, it’s slow and thought out. Theo could clearly see Boris’ hand inch towards his own, and it feels like an unspoken encouragement to use his voice. To finally speak about what he had never spoken about, it’s like Boris wants to hear him say it out loud. Theo breathes out slowly and heavily when he feels Boris give his hand the smallest squeeze, the sight of their linked hands being enough to make his eyes well up with tears. Is this relief? “When she was gone, I wanted to be gone too, you know that. But then you came along and life felt different, full of hope and endless possibilities, but I cared for you so much that it terrified me.”

Theo feels like he might throw up, or pass out. Maybe his heart will stop beating just like that. He won’t feel any pain, it’ll be absolutely fine… but he wants to keep going. He wants Boris to understand what he’s trying to say, and it looks like he does. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to hide it from anyone else. He doesn’t want to hide it from himself, either.

“So…” Boris starts, Theo stops breathing for a moment. “You really meant everything you said in there? Even about—”

“Every word."

“I see.” Boris nods slowly, looking slightly surprised as to how fast Theo had decided to be honest instead of dancing around the truth. “It didn’t mean nothing to me either, you know.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t— It wasn’t just because you were there or however you put it.”

Theo’s mouth falls open slightly. “Oh…”

“What? You’re surprised?” They’re talking so quietly even though it’s impossible for anyone else to hear them.

Theo can’t stop looking at their hands. “Yeah— I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

Boris is rubbing his thumb over the back of Theo’s hand in soft, swift motions. “Look. I am truly sorry we never discussed it, we should have. I was just afraid.”

“So was I.”

Boris looks on the verge of tears. “I had just never felt as okay with anyone ever as I did with you.” The two of them are looking at their joined hands, afraid to meet each other’s eyes. “I just needed distractions, you know? I told myself, Boris! You must find yourself a girl before you fuck everything up! And the whole time I wanted nothing more than to just be with you, but I told myself it was impossible.”

Theo can’t believe what he’s hearing. No coherent thoughts. Just white noise. The sound of his own heart beating in his chest. Boris’ eyes meeting his own. A shared glance. Theo thinks he hears rain, but it isn't raining outside. Maybe it’s a reminder of that day, a message from his mother telling him that it’s okay . You don’t have to worry, as long as you’re happy, puppy. That’s all that matters to me.

He looks at Boris, and all the particles in the universe that didn’t make sense to him suddenly come together and he can see everything. Who else in the world does he need other than Boris? He knows, just then, in that fraction of a moment, that Boris has always been everything he needed to be happy— it just took him a while to realise it.

And this— this is the first time Theo Decker lets himself feel.

“I don’t think it’s impossible anymore.”

It’s silent, the sun has already set and the room is only slightly lit by the orange streetlight outside the window. Boris’ face is so close to Theo’s, he can feel his breath on his skin. Time no longer exists and suddenly they’re the only people alive.