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Boris wasn't completely deluded.
He knew that although he had managed, by some insane miracle, to convince Theo not to leave - well for now at least - it wasn't going to magically fix all their problems. Their many, many problems. The first of these being the painting.
When Boris had given it back to him - in the afternoon, when they woke up tangled together in Boris' bed, headaches like jackhammers in their sober state - Theo had nearly called up the cab again. He probably would have left there and then, furious and betrayed, if not for the fact that his phone had died. With the option to escape removed, he had taken instead to sulking about the house, painting (back in its pillowcase) held fast to his chest as though he was afraid Boris would steal it again. Boris, pretending to be ignorant of the silence, had rolled his eyes and sighed, and followed Theo around the house with endless chatter ("God, Potter, so dramatic, I gave it back! I will not take your shitty painting again, I promise, перестань быть таким раздражающим!"), attempting to annoy him into forgiveness. Oddly enough, this didn't work. Who would have guessed?
He whinged and whined for the whole first day, and had acted down right scandalised when Theo had locked himself in his father's room rather than going to bed with Boris when night came around. To add insult to injury, he had taken Popchik with him. Что за черт?!
The second day was, somehow, worse. Boris was past ignoring the silence, and now was angry.
Boris did not enjoy the silent treatment. If he had thought been forgotten by Theo on the night he, uh, moved out was bad, being purposefully ignored was equivalent of torture. And this- this neediness, that had taken residence over the previous 24 hours was putting Boris into an even worse mood. He wanted desperately for Theo to look at him, speak to him, touch him. He wanted to share a drink or a cigarette or another pill, or maybe cook a meal together and laugh when the food stuck to the bottom of the pan because they had been too high to notice the smell of burning. And this desire was frustrating him, because Boris was not needy or clingy or anything gross like that. He wasn't! He was too aloof for this sort of behaviour. People begged for his attention, not the other way around.
'Fine!' he thinks to himself furiously. 'If he is going to ignore me, I am going to ignore him!' And he does, sort of. Rather, he ignores Theo in a way that makes it very obvious that he's ignoring Theo. He sits with his back to the other boy, huffing angrily, pouring shot after shot. He sits on the steps by the pool or the door, wherever it's easiest for Theo to see him sulking, smoking cigarettes and one very messily rolled joint and being altogether miserable. Occasionally he mutters under his breath, "сумасшедший мудак", "німий ебать", "dramatyczna suka". It gives him a small amount of bitter satisfaction, knowing that Theo can hear the blatant insults, but not know what it is Boris is saying to him.
When they had headed up to bed that night, Boris had slammed the door before Theo had the chance to lock his.
Day three found him apologetic, guilty for how he had acted towards Theo the day before. 'Boris, you inconsiderate ass, what are you doing? Slamming doors, swearing at him, when you are the one who took the painting, traitor.'
Once again, he lies in the same rooms as Theo, on opposite couches or on the floor by his head, desperately trying to coax an ounce of attention out of Theo. "Come on Potter, talk to me! I'll do anything, even shut up!" They hadn't eaten much in the last couple of days, so he tried his hand at cooking around lunch time, a disaster best never thought of again. There was a reason Theo had made most of their food for them. After he'd cleaned up, he'd brought a humble offering of Hershey's back to Theo. Boris detested American chocolate, which was far to dry and bitter compared to the luxury of European chocolate, but he knew Theo loved it, and so there was a lot of it crammed into the cupboards and hiding spaces of the house (it helped that the bars were so small and easy to steal).
In the afternoon, Boris played with Popchik, attempting to teach the tiny dog how to roll. The results were varied, but they failed in their attempt to draw Theo out of his silent shell. He was as quiet as ever, to Boris' despair. As the evening drew on, he bought out a bottle of sourz he'd stolen from Xandra a week back. It wasn't Boris' usual style of drink, but they took whatever they could get their hands on. After all, beggars - or thieves - can't be choosers. Three quarters of the way through the bottle, he felt the familiar and pleasant buzz of tipsiness wash over him. He babbled on and on to Theo, whiny and pleading. "Come on, come on Potter. Talk to me. пожалуйста, пожалуйста, пожалуйста. Stop ignoring me." But Theo was resolute. Boris finished the sourz quick, and went to find something stronger.
When they went to bed, Theo was quick to shut the door on Boris, who had been attempting to squeeze in behind him. Boris had sunk to the floor, back to the door and a bottle of blue label vodka in his hand. "Don't be like this, Potter. Come on, open up. Talk to me." And when this failed, he attempted serenading.
It was that Polish lullaby, the two cats that his mother used to sing. He went through its entirety, and then when there was no response from Theo, he started again. Boris knew that he was not really much of a singer, voice rough enough while sober and practically a yowl with the influence of alcohol. For this reason, it always worked in the past at getting Theo to pay attention to him, usually because he got so irritated that he'd sock Boris in the mouth to get him to shut up, but he'd been hesitant to use it before now. He knew that what he'd done had upset Theo, and while he didn't understand the attachment his friend had to the painting or feel guilty for the actual act of stealing itself, he did feel a bit bad that he stole from Theo of all people. They weren't supposed to do that to each other, he knew that, but he'd done it anyway. Boris lost his place in the song, and started from the top.
"A-a-a, a-a-a, byly sobie kotki dwa. A-a-a, kotki dwa, szarobure, szarobure obydwa. Ach, śpij, kochanie, jesli gwiazdke z nieba chcesz -" On his fourth recital, the door opened sharply, and Boris fell back and hit his head off the floor with a solid clunk. Theo was standing above him, arms crossed and looking pissed to all hell. "God, Boris, I'll fucking talk to you if you stop that bloody racket. You sound like a dying cat, Jesus fuck." Boris grinned, wriggling onto his front so he could push himself upright. He swayed on his feet a little, and fell forwards, burying his face into Theo's neck and bringing his arms up tight around the shorter boys waist.
"About fucking time, Potter. I was going insane, only talking to myself." Theo snorted, and unsuccessfully tried to shove Boris off. "Yeah, sure, like you weren't already psychotic." They stumble back to the bed, Boris' weight and lack of control pulling them down onto the mattress. Theo once again tried to pull away, but the grip on him was too tight for him to break. "Hey, no, stop wriggling." Boris complained. "You said you're not mad anymore, so stop being bitchy." He wrinkled his nose. "When the fuck did I say that? I'm still angry. And let me go, I said I would talk to you, not be your fucking pillow." Boris rolled so that he was nearly fully on top of Theo, and didn't bother to hide his shit-eating grin.
"Oh, Птичка моя, what is that expression? Bold to think? No- assume. Yes, bold to assume that you have a say in this. You are nice to lie on, so I will do it." Theo made a noise of disbelief, but didn't bother trying to push him off again. He knew it was a fruitless endeavour. Boris sighed happily, looking every bit like the cat that got the canary. "I think you are full of shit anyway, Potter. You would not have opened the door if still you were mad, no matter how bad my singing. And it is lovely by the way." Theo opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out and his face went red. He turned away - as much as was possible while being weighed down by another body - and huffed. Boris had been right- well, regarding the part about Theo being angry; his singing truly was as bad as it came. But Boris knew the boy inside and out, and there was no way in hell he would have given in if he was still as furious as he had been the first day.
"I still don't get why you did it though." He murmured after a minute of silence. Boris groaned, frustrated. The alcohol had started to wear and was making him sleepy, and he'd been so very close to slipping into unconsciousness. "It doesn't matter. I have given it back, you have gotten over it. All good, no?"
"No." Theo insisted, hitting Boris' shoulder. He yelped, and reached up to rub at the bruise that was probably forming there. "Ow, ok! I- I don't know! I was curious, you were being all hidey with a stupid pillowcase, got all- what's the word? оборонительный... defensive, I think. You wouldn't let me see it. And then you got drunk, showed me. And I wanted it. It was pretty, and it looked like you-" Theo cut him off with arched eyebrows. "It looked like me?" He asked dryly, and Boris scowled. "Fuck off, it does. Little bird looks like you, reminds me of you." Theo snorted. "Now who's getting defensive?"
"Ha ha, so funny Potter. Shut up, let me tell." He cleared his throat and carried on. "Anyway, I was high and wanted it, so I took it. And then I wake up next day with it, and I knew you would get angry, so I kept it. But then you were going, and I knew- you could not leave without it. So," Boris shrugged his shoulders, and the action hit Theo's chin. Said boy sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Ok. Ok, just- you can't fucking do this shit to me Boris. You can't. Steal and lie and fuck over anyone else in this goddamn desert, but not me."
Boris nods, turns and presses a kiss into the juncture of Theo's neck and shoulder. "Yes, I know. I am sorry, Potter, truly." And this, the kissing and the touching and the simmering want- this is another problem, another thing they're going to have to work out. But right now they're both tired. And so they fall peacefully into sleep, safe and warm and tangled together.