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This story starts one late Sunday night. Theo is sober-adjacent for what may very well be the first time since he showed up in this godforsaken desert. He doesn’t really know why - they must be out of alcohol - but for once he’s not complaining about it; it’s nice to spend an evening without clutching the toilet as the floor spins. Boris doesn’t seem to mind the sobriety either. The two of them are sitting on the rough sun-bleached concrete at the edge of the pool, passing a cigarette back and forth, waiting for something or maybe nothing to happen.
Boris exhales and Theo watches, hypnotized, as the smoke spirals up to the starry night sky in a gray-and-yellow haze, lit by the dim porch light. Bony fingers with the cigarette held between them, more delicately than anyone who looked upon Boris would think possible. But that’s what he is: whiplash-inducing, unpredictable, socking Theo in the jaw and then gently wiping away the blood.
He looks over and reaches up to tap Theo’s temple, quirking a smile. “What is up here?”
Theo ducks away, taking the cigarette from him. Won’t let him touch you but you’ll share a cigarette. You’re messed up, you know that?
“Nothing,” he says, staring at the electric blue water. His and Boris’ feet are gently swaying back and forth, small ripples echoing across the surface.
“There’s always something, Potter. I see it in your eyes all the time. Always busy, busy mind. So many thoughts, just spinning and spinning and spinning.” He takes the cigarette back, flicking the ashes into the pool. “Come on.”
Theo tracks the progress of a ripple all the way across the water until it hits the other side. His thoughts are always an explosive mess. He can’t ever decipher one from the other. They roar so loud and blend together so ferociously that he almost doesn’t notice it anymore. The current of anxiety is so present that it just…isn’t, at this point.
He takes a deep breath, pulling secondhand smoke from Boris into his lungs. In some weird, fucked-up way, he likes it. Likes breathing Boris in.
“You tell me something,” he finally says.
“Okay,” Boris says decisively. “I want to go to Staten Island one day.”
“What? Why?”
“Is cool!”
“It’s really not. I’ve been there. It’s just another city.”
Boris groans and flicks ashes onto the thigh of Theo’s rolled-up jeans. “You’re being boring, Potter.”
“Sorry,” Theo says exasperatedly, brushing the ashes off his jeans. “I’m just telling you the truth.”
He can feel Boris roll his eyes. “Whatever. But if we do end up in New York one day - promise you’ll take me there?”
“Yeah, sure. You can finally see what you’re not missing.”
Boris shakes his head. “Will be with you, so will not be boring, I think.”
Theo looks over at him, his entire chest seizing up like there’s no more air to breathe even though they’re outside in the biggest wasteland he’s ever imagined.
“Yeah,” he finally chokes out. “Sounds - sounds good.” And he takes the cigarette and inhales as much as he can so that he doesn’t have to come up with a better response.
There’s hands in Theo’s hair.
He doesn’t know where they’ve come from, but they’re nice. Soft. Gently working out all the tangles. The hands of someone who cares about him, he thinks.
“Boris?”
“Yah?” Boris is sitting against the wall on the bed, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling. Theo knows this because he has his own head in Boris’ lap, and therefore can see what’s going on. Maybe that’s whose hands are in his hair. He tucks this bit of information away for later examination.
“What if we’re the only people left?”
Boris looks down at him. “Left?”
“On…” Theo squints, trying to find the words he’s looking for. There’s a handful floating across Boris’ face but they’re too jumbled. “On…the earth. We could be. It feels like we are, doesn’t it?”
Boris hums, his gaze drifting to the window.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing. Is too dark outside.”
“Yeah! And it’s so quiet, right?”
“A little bit, yes.”
“So what if we are the last people?” The idea suddenly shakes Theo with fear. It’d be okay, because he’d have Boris, and Boris has gotten him through everything, but…the last people? The only ones left to see out the last of humanity’s time on their big blue-and-green planet? It’s a big task, one he suddenly fears he won’t be able to uphold.
Boris looks down at him, frowning when he sees the worry on Theo’s face. “Oh, Potter. Do not think that way. Is just dark outside; does not mean we are the only ones here.”
“Yeah but, if we are, just - promise me you’ll stay with me. Don’t leave me alone.”
“I would never do that to you, Potter. Not ever.”
Theo nods, closing his eyes. There’s a dull hum coming from somewhere - the air conditioner, maybe, it’s fucking freezing in Boris’ bedroom - and he can still taste remnants of the acid tab. Everything is slowed down; neon psychedelic patterns are swirling across his eyelids, like what happens when you look at the sun for too long (which happens a lot to Theo out here in the desert). It’s all starting to give him a headache, though.
“Theo?”
Theo opens his eyes to see Boris looking at him intently. “Yeah?”
“I…”
He trails off and Theo waits patiently. He can see time sliding by like molasses, slow and hazy. The hands in his hair have stilled - he’s pretty sure they’re Boris’.
And honestly, Boris is kinda beautiful, Theo thinks. His hair is hanging in front of his face, tangled as usual. Theo’s pretty sure he’s felt it before, though. It’s softer than it looks. And his eyes are nice to look into. Always deep and thoughtful, the light behind them cancelling out their dark color.
“Am happy,” Boris finally says. Theo grins - he can’t help himself.
“Me too.”
Boris nods and finds Theo’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He lets his head fall back against the wall and closes his eyes, his free hand finding its way back into Theo’s hair.
“We should do this more,” Theo mumbles, running his thumb over the back of Boris’ hand.
“Mmm.”
Theo shuts his eyes, lulled to sleep by Boris’ soft singing.
“What’d you get for number four?” Theo asks, looking up from where he’s lying on his stomach on the playground woodchips. Boris, stretched out on the plastic green slide and dangling over the edge, squints at the homework and textbooks spread out below him, right in front of Theo.
“X equals seven,” he finally says, chewing on his pencil. Theo frowns at his page.
“That isn’t an option.”
Boris looks up. “What?”
“It’s not an option. X isn’t even in the problem, it’s Y.” Theo leans forward and snatches Boris’ homework from him, ignoring his spluttered protests. “Oh my God, Boris, you’re not even on the right page.” He flips it over and finds what he’s looking for, jotting down the answer before handing it back.
“Maybe you weren’t on the right page,” Boris scoffs. Theo rolls his eyes and moves down to the next problem.
Two linear equations later, he drops his head onto his open algebra book. “This sucks,” he groans, rolling onto his back.
Boris perks up immediately, knowing it won’t take much to persuade Theo out of it. “Acid?”
“Fuck no. We did that last night.” He falters, trying to remember what happened last night. The feeling he woke up with that morning was different than the usual post-trip one. Like something important happened. He hates that feeling. “And besides, I already have a migraine, I don’t need another one.”
“Well, what do you want to do, then?”
“I don’t know.” The sky above him is pale blue, streaked with the oranges and pinks of sunset. If he squints he can see a few stars already coming out.
Boris clambers off the slide and kicks Theo’s shoulder impatiently.
“Dick,” Theo says halfheartedly.
“Try harder,” Boris scoffs. He drops down next to him, pulling a knee to his chest. “We can go home and swim.”
We can go home. When did it stop being your house and my house? “I guess so.”
Boris frowns at him. “You do not want to?”
Theo closes his eyes. “Not really.”
“Did your dad -“
“No, no. It’s just - him and Xandra -“ He sighs. “I just don’t wanna be there right now.”
“Then we can go to my house. Or stay here. Or walk and walk and walk until there is no road left.”
Theo opens his eyes to find Boris staring at him intently. “Yeah, right.”
“Am serious.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face, one that says he’d do it just for kicks. One day, Theo thinks, he’ll wake up and Boris won’t be there in the frigid air next to him; the sheets, so often tangled around his legs, will be loose and sliding to the floor. Theo will look out the window and see Boris on the horizon, just a shimmering mirage in the distant on the dusty road to nowhere. The thought hurts, not because Boris would be leaving, but because Theo wouldn’t be with him.
Which is stupid, honestly. Wherever Boris goes, Theo is going. Why wouldn’t he? And besides, Boris would never leave without him.
He’s abruptly brought out of his own thoughts by a finger jabbing into his side. “Hey!” He jerks away and props himself up on his elbows, glaring at Boris.
Boris grins. “So you are tickley.”
“Ticklish, idiot. And no, I’m not.”
“Then why did you do that?”
“Because it hurt, asshole!”
Boris raises an eyebrow. “So you won’t mind if I do it again.”
Theo rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.”
It’s too late. He sees it coming a mile away, and yet he still yelps when Boris lunges forward to dig his fingers into Theo’s sides.
“Fuck, Boris, stop! Stop it!” But he’s giggling, he can’t help it, and Boris is half on top of him, grinning and laughing and showing absolutely no mercy. Theo tries to wriggle away, does everything he can to bat Boris’ hands away, but it’s no use. Boris, however scrawny and malnourished he may be, has always been able to beat Theo in a fight.
“Not tickley, eh?” Boris says, glee flashing in his eyes, refusing to let up. Theo squirms but now Boris has got him fully pinned down.
“Ticklish, you fucking bastard, come on -“ He’s completely out of breath, struggling with Boris’ warm hands all over him and the weight on top of him. “Boris!”
Boris pauses, leaning over Theo like a maniac. “I’ll stop if you tell me something.”
“Tell you what?” Theo gasps. Boris ponders for a moment, like he’s not totally crushing all the air out of Theo’s lungs, and then he frowns as if a new thought has taken over whatever he was originally going to say.
“Do you really hate Kotku?”
Theo sighs, letting his head fall back to the ground. “I don’t hate her.”
“But you do not like her.”
No, of course I don’t like her. I’ve barely seen you since she came along. You aren’t there when I wake up, you aren’t on the couch when I watch movies, you aren’t there for my nightmares anymore. When I want to sit at the bottom of the pool and never come up, you aren’t there to drag me out. I need you to drag me out. You always drag me out.
“I think she’s fine, she’s just annoying to be around sometimes.”
Boris smirks. “Sounds like jealousy to me, Potter. You should have told me you were in love with me sooner.”
Theo scoffs. “Yeah, right.” He wishes he could find something else to back up his claim, but he can’t, not when Boris is warm and familiar on top of him and his face is right there and he’s looking at Theo the same way he looks at him late at night, when their bodies are heavy with sleep and alcohol and there’s not much more to do but stare at each other in the moonlight that filters through the window.
But it becomes too much, and Theo is the first to look away. He always is.
Boris forces a laugh that cuts through the late evening silence like a serrated knife, jagged and all wrong but it does the job. Theo lets out another string of swears as Boris goes right back to tickling him, all up and down his ribcage and his stomach. He’s singing some dumb song in Russian, loud and off-key and annoying as fuck, but endearing anyways.
“Boris!”
But Boris is still laughing and still going so Theo puts all his strength into working one of his hands free, and when he finally gets it, he swings. He doesn’t mean to do it hard, or for it to hurt at all, but it hits Boris right in the jaw and knocks him off. He hisses a litany of Russian swears and shoves his fist back towards Theo, but misses drastically and just punches air.
With their momentum gone and their legs and arms all tangled together, they fumble their way into a sitting position and Theo ends up pressed against Boris, one leg thrown across his lap.
“Asshole,” Theo says breathlessly. Boris rolls his eyes, shoving hair away from his face.
“You said you didn’t want to do school.”
“Yeah, I didn’t mean I wanted you to fucking tickle me to death like you’re my grandma.”
A grin flashes across Boris’ face but it quickly turns into a wince when he stretches his still-bleeding split lip. He lifts a hand from where it was resting atop Theo’s leg and swipes his fingertip over the cut, staring at the blood that comes away. An uncomfortable wave of guilt sweeps through Theo and turns his stomach over. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, on both sides, after too many drinks or too little sleep or an ugly combination of both that leads to short tempers and carelessly bitter words, but it still makes Theo feel like absolute shit. Boris already has one source of pain in his life. He doesn’t need another.
“Hey, I’m…I’m sorry,” Theo says quietly.
Boris shakes his head at his lap. If he were speaking, Theo knows what he’d be saying: no drama, Potter. No big deal. He takes Theo’s hand in his own, lacing slender fingers together, and then, as Theo stares at his face, he brings their linked hands up to his mouth and gently presses his lips to the mess of Theo’s knuckles, blood to blood.
It’s ninety-one degrees out and Theo shivers all the way down to the marrow of his bones.
Boris looks up, still holding Theo’s hand. His eyes are dark and intent behind his hair. There’s a question hovering between them. Theo doesn’t move, doesn’t open his mouth, but he’s not saying no. He’s never said no.
Boris gets it. He slowly turns Theo’s arm over, fingertips gently pressing into his palm, and leans forward. When his lips meet the skin right between the hem of Theo’s sleeve and the inside of his elbow, Theo’s stomach drops, heady and sharp exhilaration trickling down his spine. What the fuck is happening?
“Boris…”
Boris lifts his eyes. He’s completely unreadable. No doubt he feels Theo’s pulse hammering against his wrist.
Say something. Say something before it’s too late and this gets more fucked up than it already is.
Shit.
“Not in love with me, eh?” Boris murmurs. Theo’s chest seizes up.
“Shut up,” he chokes out. “Boris. Fuck.”
What is he supposed to do? What does Boris expect him to do? Whip out a long, profound love confession? Boris was always the one who was good with words, regardless of the language, they both know this. So he just…gives in. Gives in to the overwhelming rush of exhaustion - not physical, but emotional, from keeping everything inside for so long. He gives in to the feeling of Boris’ warm fingertips pressing into his hand. Gives in to the security he’s always felt when they’re this close. He lets his head fall forward into the crook of Boris’ neck.
“Potter,” Boris whispers, sliding their hands back together.
“Yeah.”
He feels Boris’ free hand come up to his jaw, nudging him backwards so he can look him in the eyes. Theo’s heart clenches as he sees his best friend’s bloodied lip again. My fault.
He dips forward, just a bit, just enough to get rid of the distance between them. He slowly kisses Boris, his head spinning and his heart pounding but everything is so surreal right now that he doesn’t notice. He hears Boris’ sharp gasp, feels him tighten his grip on Theo’s hand. Theo leans back after a moment and wipes the rest of the blood off Boris’ lips with his knuckles, then risks meeting his gaze.
Boris gapes at him. “Theo.”
“Is - is this okay -“
Boris’ eyes go wide and he lets out a breathy laugh. “Ty budesh moyey smert'yu, Potter.”
“I don’t know what that means, asshole.”
“Figure it out.”
Theo shakes his head, unable to process words or emotions or anything that isn’t Boris right now. He leans in again, he absolutely can’t help himself anymore, and Boris meets him this time. Theo grips onto Boris’ shirt with his free hand, trying to steady himself as absolutely everything he knows is washed away, all of it being replaced by this new feeling of drowning. Drowning in the best way possible. Drowning, dying, but coming to life all at once.
Boris won’t stop kissing him long enough to give him a break to breathe so he has to force himself back. It’s probably the most painful thing he’s ever done, because now he’s realized that kissing Boris is far, far better than any high. They can have this - this can happen, it is happening, and nobody is stopping them. Theo feels like he just uncovered Elysium.
“You -“ Boris gasps, forehead pressed against Theo’s. “I - Potter.”
Theo doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah, I know. I know.”
“Tell me - tell me this is not just you trying to drown,” Boris breathes.
Fuck, he knows Theo so well. Too well. Knows his coping mechanisms and what he does to escape and why he does it. But this - they’re sober, they’re not running from something. This is real. Theo wants this.
“It’s not,” he says. “It’s not, I promise.”
“Good.” Boris laughs, then, laughs with nothing but pure joy. “God, Potter. I never thought -“
Theo grins. “Yeah, me neither.”
“Am glad, though.”
“Me too.”
And then Boris pulls him back in, and it’s just them out there in the park, the sky darkening by the minute, nothing in their thoughts but each other. It is their world right now, Theo thinks. Just theirs, and nobody can do anything about it.