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Thick clouds of dust pressed in against him, reaching down his throat and cutting off his air until he was choking, suffocating, coughing it out in wracking horrible bursts.
He spun in blind circles, unsure if he was in a room at all.
His heart was pounding in his ears, the only thing he could make out over the ringing.
Everything hurt, the feeble breaths he managed to take in burned his lungs like acid.
He tried to cry out but his mouth was so full of ash he choked again. It was pouring into him now, his entire body filling with the charred remains of what was around him, he was becoming ash and dust and smoke, unraveling—
Theo jolted upright with a scream, his hands clutched at his throat. He heaved for breath, cries escaping that he couldn’t control, desperate to wake up. He clawed at his shirt, nearly ripping it off to stop it from tightening around his throat. It didn’t help at all, he scrambled desperately trying to breathe, trying not to suffocate.
“Potter,” Boris said from beside him, though Theo was too panicked to really hear him.
Strong hands wrapped around his wrists, moving Theo’s hands away from his throat. He gasped for air, his heart thundering away in his traitorous chest.
“It’s just me,” Boris tried. “It’s just me, Potter.”
Theo let Boris move his hands back to his sides. Boris wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in so his nose was against Boris’ shoulder.
Theo felt like he was living two nights at the same time. The one, here, now, and another from years ago. He fit with Boris the same way now as he had then. Gasping for air as Boris held him against him.
There were differences now. They were no longer awkward and lanky boys, limbs tangled and knobby elbows digging into prominent ribs.
Now they were both grown, but still Boris pulled Theo towards him, and despite everything it was familiar.
Theo clung to him now, as he had before, his breath shuddering out against Boris’ throat.
He muttered to Theo softly, his arms around him. “Shh, Potter, it’s just me.”
His face felt hot where tears had tumbled down, quick and savage and as painful as the air he was dragging into his lungs.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken like this. Many nights alone, that was for sure.
He tucked himself closer against Boris, breathing in the cigarette and vodka smell that stuck to his clothing. Air had never felt more precious.
Boris rubbed a broad hand across his back, still murmuring softly. Theo wanted to freeze this moment for the rest of his life. The moment after fear, not quite calm, but a moment of security.
He was breathing, in Boris’ arms, tucked into an embrace so impenetrable to the outside world it was ridiculous for him to even worry. He held on tightly, relishing the warmth that spread from Boris’ body to his. It was like he had not known safety since those nights as children. Two children, practically orphans, alone in the night clinging to each other like a life raft.
Theo would not let go. Not now, not ever. He stayed in the circle of Boris’ arms, and he let himself breathe again.