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It was nearly 5am when a low crash woke James Hobart from a fitful sleep, and it was with a low familiar sadness that his dream dissolved, some convoluted plot where he’d been searching for Welty down long twisted halls and had only just found him, a variation of the same sort of dreams he’d had intermittently for years. There were muffled sounds coming from downstairs, nearly indistinguishable from the outside hum of New York, before a more distinct bang sounded out.
Hobie sat up, suddenly alert. It had been years since he’d worried about burglars, the gentrification of their area, ongoing for years, was now nearly complete. Hesitantly, he started down the hall, half expecting Theo, always a poor sleeper, to be standing outside his door, woken by the noise as well, before he remembered Theo hadn’t been home when Hobie went to bed.
A muted cuss sounded out from downstairs. Then “Jesus Potter, relax. Let me do it. Yes, yes, is okay, I've got it.”
The voice itself, low and slurring, was unfamiliar, but the Australio-Russian accent was distinct and Hobie relaxed as he realized it was only Theo and his friend Boris, both of them probably too drunk to see straight.
Every time they saw each other, which admittedly was infrequent- twice a year, if that- since Theo returned to New York, they nearly always stayed out all night, sometimes even days at a time, and Theo usually spent the next few days afterwards rubbing his temples and downing Advil by the handful. Not that Hobie minded some youthful indulgence, but he did worry that Boris (who by Theo's own admission was a rampant alcoholic), and particularly the two of them together, tended to take things a bit too far.
Particularly, Hobie worried about Theo's sobriety, which Hobie had a feeling was more delicate than Theo liked to pretend it was. Beyond the initial admission and a few days in bed sick and irritable detoxing upon his return from Amsterdam almost 4 years ago, Theo had not mentioned his drug use at all. Hobie suspected sometimes, based on nothing more than a slight shift in mood and a change in pallor, that Theo had quietly relapsed and then weaned himself off again a few times since. Hobie had gently tried to suggest maybe NA or a program on several occasions, but Theo always adamantly refused, insisting it really had never been that serious. And while Hobie knew he could hide his head in the sand sometimes, he was quite aware drug problems that involved Oxycodone and heroin were generally not very casual. And though Hobie would say he trusted Theo (somehow this was still true) his ability to take Theo's word at face value had certainly taken a hit following the events of the past few years. Theo had assured him on Boris’s last visit that if Theo said he was sober (from opiates at least) that Boris would respect that. Be proud of him even. But it didn’t stop Hobie from worrying.
Downstairs there was the sound of high pitched keening, Popper now barely able to walk from arthritis, but miraculously alive, and Boris saying “oh ptoushaka yes, good to see you too, yes I missed you as well!”
Then some quiet indistinguishable murmuring followed by sharp laughter, which, unfortunately, Hobie didn’t hear from Theo all that often. And the truth was, though there clearly was a physical toll from Boris’s visits, Hobie did have to admit that Theo often was in a better mood afterwards, more relaxed, more genuine somehow.
Downstairs he heard Boris say “What is it? Are you going to be sick?” He couldn’t make out the reply but Boris said “Ha. I know that face. Come, hold it until we get you upstairs first, yes?”
There was more shuffling and a groan as they moved as a unit towards the stairwell. “Fuck, Potter.” Boris muttered. “Work with me a little here. You are not so small as you used to be. How did you get so big anyways? Can’t be nutrition, we ate the same shit diet.”
“Superior genetics.” Theo replied a beat too late, the words muddied and blurred together.
“Hah! Fuck you.” Boris said. Then, as Theo tripped and slammed his shoulder into the wall “Shh Potter, Jesus. We don’t want to wake the old man, right?” He said, and Hobie realized with a start that must refer to him.
“Mm. He'll sleep through anything.” Theo said, which was such an obvious lie Hobie was confused as to why he even said it. Hobie had been a poor sleeper his whole life, worse as he aged, as Theo well knew.
Together, they slowly emerged at the top of the stairs, Theo leaning very heavily on Boris, eyes closed, neither of them noticing Hobie standing quietly at the end of the hall, unsure whether to announce himself or intervene, as both of them stumbled into the bathroom, Boris throwing the lights on and Theo keeling over to wretch violently into the toilet. Boris stood above him, unbothered, catching Theo's glasses as they slid off his face, murmuring things like “There you go. Better now yes?”
Finally, Theo finished, flushed the toilet and slid down the bathroom wall to sit with his head in his hands. Boris slid down with him, sitting opposite him on the floor.
“Good now? Time to sleep?” Boris asked.
Theo shook his head after a moment. “Might throw up again.” He managed.
Boris nodded. “Poor Potter.” He said, rubbing Theo’s shoulder. “What happened? Can’t handle alcohol like you used to.”
“Fuck you. We're not all alcoholics.”
Hobie thought this was maybe a low blow, but Boris just laughed. “True enough. But fun night, yes? Those girls at the club loved you, I half thought they were going to kidnap you.”
“Not my type.” Theo muttered.
“Yes, yes.” Boris said. “You like the quiet type, intellectual innocent-like. Tattooed girls in clubs are too trashy for Mr. New York Antiques.”
“Fuck off.” Theo said before leaning forward to dry heave over the toilet. When he was done, he sat back breathing heavily over the toilet bowl as Boris rubbed lazy circles in his back.
Hobie watched, somewhat in shock, as Theo, who in general eschewed any forms of physical affection, particularly he’d noted, with other men, leaned in close to Boris, the two of them sharing a long moment of eye contact, Theo looking grave and Boris faintly amused, before Theo sighed and lay his head down to rest on Boris’s shoulder. Boris, unperturbed, brought a hand to the back of Theo's head and casually stroked his hair. They sat like that for a few moments, looking oddly surreal, Theos bowed posture and the harsh light illuminating them from directly above reminding him strangely of renaissance age paintings of saints, Piero di Cosimo, before Theo, without moving his head, brought his hand up to grip Boris’s right elbow.
“You’re arms okay?” Theo asked.
“Yes, potter.” Boris said, definitely amused. “I told you how many times already, was only a shallow wound. Totally healed.”
“Good.” Theo said.
“Were you so worried about me?”
“Obviously. Dumbass.”
They settled into quiet and Theo's breathing started to take on a deeper more regular rhythm.
Boris nudged him. “C'mon potter. We’re too old to fall asleep in a bathroom.”
“Nnn.” Was the reply.
“Come on. Come. Up!” Boris stood and kicked at Theo's leg before Theo finally looked up and allowed Boris to pull him to his feet.
Boris led him into the hall before, finally, he caught sight of Hobie, still standing hesitantly near his door, and jolted violently, cussing in some Eastern European language. Theo, with his eyes closed, and arm draped around Boris shoulder, didn’t even flinch in reaction to Boris’s movement. Boris, recovering, put a finger to his mouth with a smile before opening Theo's door to lead him inside. A few moments passed, there was some indistinct murmuring, before Boris emerged from the room alone.
“Sorry.” Hobie said, somewhat awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Boris waved his hand. “No worries. Am sorry to have woken you so late. Or, is early now, I suppose.”
“It’s alright. I’m a light sleeper. I’m not really sure why Theo said otherwise.”
“Ah. Probably was thinking of his dad.” Boris said. “He was very heavy sleeper, with those pills. In retrospect Is a wonder he woke up at all.” He shrugged. “So many drinks in, is easy to lose track of time. Potter in particular is bad with this. He’s gone back and forth since an hour ago, sometimes thinking we’re in Vegas if he is only hearing me and not seeing me.” Boris said as if it was normal to drink so much you lost all sense of time and place.
“Is he alright?” Hobie asked hesitantly.
“Theo? Yes of course, is fine. I take care of him, no problem." Boris said with a flick of his wrist. "He will have terrible headache tomorrow, I’m sure, but this is nothing new. I will bring him coffee in the morning, before I go to the airport. Though he may not want to see me.” He laughed to himself.
“Why not? Did you fight?” It hadn’t really seemed like they had.
“Fight? No, no. Well. Maybe a little.” Boris said with a sheepish grin. “Spirited discussion of old times, I would call it. But no matter,” Boris snorted. “Theo has memory of a goldfish when drinking. He won’t remember in the morning. I know his eyes when he is blacking out. Looking at you, but also past you. This is why I was able to take the painting so easy.” He said it so casually Hobie didn’t have a chance to react and by the time he caught up to the sentence, blinking in shock, Boris was already talking again.
“Every time I see him he always says the next day ‘Boris I feel terrible, why did you let me drink so much‘ as if I pour the shots down his throat. Was the same when we were younger. He’d ask ‘Boris why did you bring vodka over I feel sick’. As if I am the one that made him pour himself full size glass.” He laughed. His clenched jaw and quick speech made Hobie wonder if alcohol was the only thing in his system. “Tonight in particular was very nostalgic for old times, sneaking him inside, getting him out of dirty clothes and in bed. This used to be the only way he fell asleep. His nightmares are less now?” Boris asked hopefully.
“I- I’m not sure.” Hobie said honestly. He had always suspected Theo had insomnia and bad dreams, more than once meeting him accidentally in the kitchen at 3am, but they had never discussed it in detail. “I hope so.”
Boris nodded. “Me too. Used to be so terrible you know? Awake every night, screaming.” He sighed. “He has been through too much.”
From what Theo had told him, Boris had been through quite a bit himself, yet he didn’t sound sarcastic or ingenuine at all.
Hobie was torn between what he wanted to say. Part of him wanted to thank Boris, for being there for Theo, lifting his spirits, letting Theo lean against him. Part of him wanted to ask Boris to stay away, for Theo's sake, to let him grow away from the influence of drugs and alcohol, of someone who he knew for a fact did not make an honest living.
He wasn’t sure what to make of what he’d seen tonight, Theo resting against him like a child, Boris with his hand in Theo's hair. He felt like he was on the cusp of understanding something he hadn’t before.
He remembered when Theo had first (or second) appeared on his doorstep again after leaving Vegas, dirty and lost. He’d been as quiet and unassuming as before, and yet was a decidedly different boy than the one Hobie had known before he’d left, though he couldn’t put a finger on exactly what had changed. It had taken him almost a month of being in New York before he even mentioned his friend Boris, who he’d left in Vegas. Hobie had actually thought Theo was making him up at first, or at least embellishing. His Russian-Ukrainian friend by way or Australia and Papúa New Guinea, who drank beer every day and spoke five languages? It had all sounded like a bit much and it wasn’t until he saw Theo hesitantly, but successfully communicating with Grisha in (very profane) Russian that Hobie realized this Boris character probably had been a real person.
Theo hadn’t spoken much of his time in Vegas, other than in clinical, factual terms, but it was clear to Hobie that time had not been good to him. The few years after Theo had unofficially come to live with him had been... delicate, and Hobie hadn’t wanted to pry. He had, in truth, heard the whole story only once, when Theo explained in short, even sentences, the entire ordeal with the painting. And the circumstances then had been so extraordinary Hobie had not been able to process everything else that had been said and not said.
It suddenly occurred to him that right here, in the dark, might be the only time he could ask any lingering questions he had about Theo and the painting. Other than Theo himself, Boris might be the only person who had the answers. And between the two of them, likely the only one willing to give them.
And yet, now, when given the opportunity he could only think of one question: “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”
Boris blinked. “From hangover?”
“I- well I meant more in general. Is this— the drugs, and everything else-- will he be alright?”
“Ah.” Boris said. “I mean if he was like me? Yes, worry.” Which Hobie took to mean ‘a serious alcoholic’. “But Theo? He is more likely to die from melancholy than anything else. Think himself to death. The drugs, booze, for him was never for its own sake but because of such sadness he carries.” Boris said, hand to chest. “For him, I think is more important to laugh, have a good time sometimes. Even if he is feeling a bit sick the next day.”
“Well.” Hobie said. “I’m not sure I agree with your methods. But I’m glad he has someone who cares about him and his happiness.”
“Of course I do! Potter does not like me to say so. But every good thing in my life. All of it, every bit, is all because of him. It is a debt I can never repay.” Boris said thickly. “And I don’t want to repay it. Because- and I don’t think he would like to hear this either- but he owes me too. I am happy for us to keep paying each other back and forth, over the years. He will be okay, I think.” Boris said gently.
Hobie nodded. Maybe he could be, now that the secret that had owned his life for so long was gone. Maybe he wouldn't have to live anymore with his heart chained to the dark of the past.
A sudden beam of light crossed through the high window near the stairs, a car passing by, bathing the hall for a moment in an eerie passing glow and illuminating briefly the man standing opposite Hobie. Handsome face with thin lips and dark eyes that were red-rimmed and swollen from drinking, expensive black coat (Bottega Venatta if Hobie wasn’t mistaken) with sleeves rolled up to the elbow revealing pale arms with ugly scarring down the right, faded Cyrilic tattoos with crooked linework that clearly (hopefully) weren’t professionally done, and what were easily recognizable as track marks.
For a moment, a chill of unease went down Hobie's spine.
Upstanding Theo, Theo in Turnbull and Asser, Theo escorting Mrs. Barbour home by the arm from the chamber orchestra, Theo glassy eyed, falling asleep at the dinner table, Theo, silver-tongued liar, duping dozens of clients with startling ease. Theo, hiding away one of the world's priceless treasures and never speaking a single word of it.
Hobie tried not to think it, but he couldn't always stop himself. The times when he saw Theo across the store talking amicably with a client, watching their movements with sharp eyes, and couldn't stop himself from wondering who and what exactly he had let into his home. With Boris, at least, he had some idea.
“Thank you for helping Theo home.” Hobie said finally.
“Is the least I can do.” Boris said with a Russianate flick of his wrist.
For a moment Hobie nearly spoke the words “The least you can do is go away and never come back.”
And yet no one could claim it was only Boris's influence that had led Theo towards his less reputable activities and impulses, separated as they were for all those years. Whatever tied Theo to Boris, whatever held part of Theo in the darkness, existed whether they were together or not.
"Have a good night, Mr. Hobie.” Boris said, reaching into his pocket, taking out a cigarette and resting it in his mouth.
“Good night, Boris.” Hobie said and went back to his bed for a few hours of restless sleep.
True to his word, Boris appeared at the shop shortly after opening, wearing the same long black coat as the night before and dark sunglasses, carrying two coffee cups from an expensive specialty shop down the block.
“Good morning Potter.” He said, appearing not at all worse for the wear from the night before.
“Fuck off.” Theo said, without heat. As expected, Theo had woken up early and promptly taken four Advil after a modest breakfast of plain toast. He was dressed sharply in a custom Tom Ford suit he’d gotten himself around his last birthday. Hobie had noticed he had a tendency to overcompensate with his appearance after a night of indulgence. “I can’t believe how much you made me drink.”
Boris met Hobie's eyes with a conspiratorial look that said ‘what did I tell you?’
“Oh, so you do not want fresh coffee I brought for you?” He said to Theo. “No milk, two sugars?”
“Give me the coffee, asshole.”
“Such a rude man.” Boris said mournfully, but handed one of the cups to Theo, who took a sip and promptly started coughing.
“Too hot?” Boris asked.
“No Boris, this is your fucking sugar water! Give me the other cup.”
“Oh. Whoops. You are right.” He took a long sip of his own cup after they exchanged, then said regretfully. “Hah, does not matter how much it costs, Americans do not know how to make good cup of tea.”
"My condolences." Theo said. "You’re going back to Antwerp today?”
“Not quite. Actually will be making a pit stop I’m Minsk, there is some business there I have to take care of, but after that, yes, Antwerp.”
“Think you’ll be around anytime soon?”
“In New York? Mm, most likely not. Based on what I’ve been told by some friends, it is likely I’ll have to do some things in Austria that could take some time. Looking into investing in some things. But perhaps I will be able to take a vacation after that.”
Theo nodded, unperturbed. Despite Hobie's unease, Boris had an impish air to him that sometimes almost made him forget the man was a career criminal.
"Actually," Boris said. "“I was thinking as well, about getting my own place. Vacation home you could call it. I’m in here often enough it may be worth it.”
“What, a place in New York?”
“Was thinking Manhattan, but yes. Would be nice to have somewhere in America to stay for extended times.”
“You can always stay here.” Theo said, before turning to Hobie as if to ask permission. Even after all these years he still had the tendency to treat himself as a guest.
“Here? No. I wouldn't want to impose on Mr. Hobie. And we are a little too old to be sharing beds now, don’t you think?”
“We have a spare bedroom, Boris.” Theo said tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Boris snorted. “Right, yes. I appreciate it, Potter, and Mr. Hobie, thank you. But no. Is best I have my own place, with security. Not always sure who will come looking for me. I have many friends, but there are some people it would probably be best to avoid.”
Theo nodded like this was a reasonable and not completely terrifying thing to say.
“At least I will know where to come for best furniture in town, ah?” Boris said, patting Theo hard on the back, who glared in return. “Gyuri is round the corner now, I must be going.”
“When’s your flight?”
“An hour, I think.”
“Alright then. Have a good flight.” Theo said, clearly trying very hard to sound unaffected.
“Thank you, Theo. Mr. Hobie.” Boris said, nodding at him before turning back to Theo. “What? Even if you make that face I will not kiss you goodbye this time.” Boris said and Hobie wouldn’t have thought anything of it, Boris said odd things like this all the time, expect Theo started violently, almost knocking his coffee over, and went a genuinely spectacular red.
“Fuck you!” Theo spluttered, sounding so offended that Hobie had no choice but to conclude that this was a reference to some real life event.
Boris just laughed. He crouched to the floor to where Popper sat snoring softly in his bed.
“Take care of him okay?” Boris said and Theo's face, still red and stiff lipped relaxed into something softer.
“I will.” Theo said.
“I was talking to Popper.” Boris said.
“And who’s going to take care of you?” Theo asked softly.
“Myriam, as always. Also Stoli.” Boris said, which Hobie happened to know was a very expensive brand of Russian vodka. “And when I am back, you. Yes?”
After a moment Theo said “Yea. Be careful.”
Boris snorted. “You should know by now this advice is wasted on me.”
They grinned at each other briefly, matching expressions, wry and barely there. Then Boris walked up to Theo and for a strange moment Hobie was genuinely convinced they were going to kiss, but instead Boris brought his many ringed hand to rest against Theo's cheek, leaving it there just a moment too long to be casual. For a moment, so brief Hobie wasn’t sure, Theo closed his eyes at the contact.
Then Boris was walking away, raising his coffee cup with a “Be well! We'll talk later!“, and was gone.
As the door clanged shut Theo turned to Hobie and their eyes locked, Theo’s bright and ringed faintly in red. After a long moment, Hobie looked away, feeling vaguely startled for some reason. it took him a few moments to realize that Theo usually avoided eye contact. Not enough so to be rude, but Hobie couldn’t remember a time when Theo hadn’t looked away first.
“Do you mind manning the store for a while?” Theo asked.
“Hm? Not at all.”
“Thanks. I'm gonna lie down. I feel like shit." He muttered. "Fucking Boris.”