Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Boris sat alone, eating his lunch in the school courtyard, like usual, at one of those metal tables with the bench and the holes that he’d stick his fingers through. He looked up, hearing light footsteps approaching from the grassy path behind him. Martha always walked lightly, even more so as to sneak up on and scare him by clapping or yelling in his ear, but this time he heard her. Grinning to himself, he waited until the steps stopped just behind him, and swiveled in his chair, reaching up and clapping his hands in Martha’s face. She jumped at the sudden action, and Boris beamed.

“ha-HA!” He laughed, pointing a finger at her, “I heard you coming this time! yuo didn not get 2 scare me!” His expression faltered when Martha did not return a smile. In fact, she almost looked mad at him for doing that. Boris knew she had done the same thing to him dozens of times before, but he couldn’t help but feel in the wrong here.

“..sorry,” he mumbled, lowering his hands.

Martha only rolled her eyes, “whatever, it’s fine. And stop apologizing,” she added the last bit almost exhaustedly bitter. Boris was about to apologize again before Martha shushed him, and handed him a little folded piece of stock paper. Flipping it open to reveal a party invitation hand written and decorated primarily with sparkly gel pens. Martha had very pretty handwriting, which Boris could only describe as looking like a typeface. After reading the note for the second time to be sure this wasn’t some off-time April fools joke, he closed it, and looked back up at her from his seat. His face flushed with excitement, he’d never been invited to a party, and to have been invited by his friend made it all the better. He was about to thank her for the invitation and ask what time he should be there, or if he should bring something, or what he should wear, but suddenly his mouth fell shut, and his smile faded.

“I... dom’t think I can go :-(“ he made an attempt to hand the paper back to her, but she pushed it back.

“No, you’re going.”

“But I would havfe to ask my parents and... yu know how it is,” he chuckled, adding the last part vaguely, with a rolling hand gesture to match.

She sighed as she crossed her arms, “Boris, you’re almost nineteen. You don’t have to ask your parents for anything.” And with that, the conversation was over. Martha turned back the way she came, and hollered, “it starts at seven by the way! Don’t be early.”

Boris walked home, rehearsing the coming conversation with his parents in his head. ‘You know Martha? My friend, Martha, you’ve met her. She invited me to her house for some party she’s throwing. No, I’m not lying, she even gave me an invitation. No, I don’t think there will be any alcohol, I just intend on playing charades or board games. Of course, I won’t make a fool of myself. Thank you, I love you.’ Upon entering the front door, however, he was greeted with silence. No yelling, no glass breaking. They must be at work. He wanted to get ready, to put together what he was going to wear, but living in the uncertainty of whether or not he would be allowed to go at all stopped him from doing much. He looked at the clock. It was just past four now. There’s still three more hours to wait.

After what felt like half an hour, but was really only five minutes, he took to pacing his room. It’s anxious periods like this that made him wish he still had his Lily. Someone he could talk to, who wouldn’t berate him for every word he said- But no, that was stupid. Childish. His dad was right to have thrown it away when he started junior year, he was right to have broken it when he was—

Boris pulled himself out of his thoughts as he realized he had his hand on over his mouth, suddenly aware of the missing tooth. The scarring on his inner lower lip.

A lot of good that flower did him.

Whatever.

It was seven now. His parents still weren’t home and he decided he was going to go. He wasn’t going to upset his only friend by not showing up to the party she specifically invited him to. His parents would always be his parents, but Martha could stop being his friend at any time. He wanted to head over earlier, it wasn’t a very long walk from his house to hers, but she did specify not to be early.

He went to put on the clothes he picked out, he looked at the floral print button-up shirt he hardly wore anymore. His mom never liked it, said it was tacky. Neither did his dad, but he never gave a reason. But he opted to wear it anyway, he liked it, it was big on him, it had flowers, and he wasn’t going to be around his parents for them to tell him how they hated it. Still, he wore a white tee shirt underneath for when he came back. He could stuff the flower one in his hair.

Chapter Text

He rang the doorbell, and shook his hands to get rid of the nervous energy. After an uncomfortably long few seconds, Martha answered the door, only cracking it a little at first, peering out, then upon recognizing him, opening it further to let him in, “you didn’t have to knock, y’know. You were expected to come.”

Boris was about to apologize for the inconvenience, but gasped suddenly, “:- 0 I forgot the chisps I was going 2 brimng!” He pushed his hand to his temple “sorree, i’ll B righte back!” He went to turn back home, before Martha reached out, holding the doorframe as she did so, and grabbed the shoulder of Boris’s shirt. He tried to not let that scare him, he really did. So he just settled for freezing in place.

“Dude, you didn’t have to ‘brimng’ anything,” she stressed the ‘brimng’, mocking his slurred speech, “come on, my friends invited their friends and now I don’t know more than half the people in my own home.”

She pulled him through the door, and it was only now Boris registered that he wasn’t going to be the only other person there. He had been to Martha’s House plenty of times prior, mostly so she could copy his homework, but sometimes her mother invited him over. He liked Martha’s mom. It made him feel bad he didn’t enjoy his own mother’s company as much as hers.

He followed her through the living room, the lights were on, and while the living room was crowded, the backyard sliding door letting in the evening air gave it this serene feeling; cold in a friendly way. He tried to avoid looking at everyone, he knew they would only look at him back, sneering at him, calling him the wrong name, or ‘the weird kid’ that Martha hung out with.

“So,” he drawled, picking up his pace to step in time beside with her, looking at her to avoid looking at the other guests, “what r we doing? :-0”

Martha opened the fridge, retrieving a large, nondescript bottle of an alcoholic beverage, and turned his way, squinting at him, “whadda ya mean ‘doing’? It’s a party, do party things. Read the room, Boris.”

Boris steeled himself and looked around at the other guests, thankfully they had gotten over his presence, returning to their conversations. Some were at the counter, throwing a ping pong ball at a bunch of red cups, and quite a few had gathered on and around the couch watching that movie about the blood-hungry plant and the evil dentist guy. He grimaced a little. There was something about that movie that upset him. He watched everyone drink from their respective red cups or nondescript bottles, he turned back to look at Martha, having poured two of the same red cups, both in her hands, one outstretched to him.

“oh- no, I did dnot plan on drinkinb,” he waved it away, giving a small laugh,

Martha snorted, “what else did you expect to do at a high school party? Charades?? Board games???” She began to laugh.

Boris didn’t want to admit that, yes, that’s what he was expecting to do, it was what he wanted to do, so he just settled for a nervous silence, which only made Martha laugh harder. “HHOh my god! Aww, have you never had a drink before? I bet you couldn’t even handle one, honestly! You’re so tall and gangly.”

Boris was about to correct her before she shoved past him out of the kitchen, “hey everybody!! Boris has never had alcohol before!”

A sudden cold feeling grew in his chest, nobody ever called him by his name. Honestly, Martha was the only one who knew it, now having his name yelled out specifically to call attention to him made him nervous.

The crowd turned to them. Someone paused the movie.

Martha turned back to him, passing him one of the cups, “come on, it’ll be fun! I bet you’re a way more interesting person when you’re wasted,” she smirked.

He felt like now was an inappropriate time to mention that he had his first drink two years ago. And that he shared it with a potted flower. And that he really didn’t get any more ‘interesting’ when did. So instead, he took the cup from Martha’s hand, and, refusing to look at the crowd, unceremoniously downed it.

He lowered the cup and looked back to Martha. Her expression made him nervous. He couldn’t really tell what the emotion on her face was. Surprise? Bewilderment?

“You wanna.. you wanna pace yourself there, pal?” Oh, concern.
Boris looked at his now empty cup, and shrugged. “No, I’m done.”

He heard someone try to get his attention from the front of the crowd, “dude, how much can you drink? that was.. some strong stuff,” they chuckled. It was one of Martha’s closer friends.

Boris shrugged again. But they kept trying to talk to him after that. He really wanted everybody to stop looking at him, to stop asking him questions on his ‘tolerance’, if he could answer without repercussions he would say it was running thin. Why did they care? They never did before.

After Martha told everyone to leave it alone because he ‘wanted to be a buzzkill’ Boris found himself sitting alone at the kitchen table. Martha was off mingling with her friends, and Boris had now resorted to making little braids in his hair. He looked over to the bottle someone had left on the table in front of him, he pretended he wasn’t paying attention when they laughed, telling him to have another. He’s pretty sure they were making fun of him.

Well. If there was nothing else for him to do, why not?

He didn’t feel like drinking made him more interesting. He didn’t feel any cooler. It really only made him... sad and introspective. And all the introspecting gave him a headache.

Boris laid his head down on the cold table, closed his eyes, and slid the now empty bottle away from him.

He heard light footsteps into the kitchen. Martha. He didn’t want her to sneak up on him to clap in his ear, his head hurt too bad now. But he was too tired to lift his head, so he just settled for laying his arms over top. She stopped beside him, pulling out the chair to his left. He mustered the strength to pull himself up to look at her.

“You know, you were almost cool earlier,” she grinned, placing her cup down with one hand, leaning to rest her face on the other.” I guess they were impressed that such a tall lanky nerd like you could hold his alcohol. Too bad you had to go ruining by being a pansy.”

She said something else after this, but whatever it was Martha was saying to him now, he couldn’t hear it. His vision hazed and his hearing muffled. He mumbled something, running his fingers through his hair, undoing a few of the braids in the process.

Martha leaned in a little closer, “what?”

Now he had his hands to the sides of his head, pressing them to it, “sick. Imme goinnb to 2 b sick,”

She retracted the distance, grimacing, “oh god, get to the bathroom! You are not puking on my floor!!” She pushed him off his chair by the shoulder, and he staggered for a second before regaining his footing.

He made it to the bathroom, despite his bleary vision and shaking legs. He sat down on the edge of the tub, his hands still applying pressure to the sides of his head. He didn’t throw up, thankfully, but at some point he had passed out, falling forward onto the floor.

He woke up to something nudging the back of his head, he heard someone mutter, “for the love of god do not tell me you died on my bathroom floor.” It was Martha again. He was vaguely aware of her trying to pick him up, locking her arms under his. He wished he was more awake for this, he felt bad that Martha, as small as she was, was trying to lift him in any capacity. He appreciated it nonetheless.

“Ouughhh you’re all cold and clammy like a corpse this is so gross,” he had heard her say, passing back into unconsciousness as she dragged him out of the bathroom.

When he woke up again he was laying down, on his back, his blurry vision barely able to discern he dark ceiling above him. He blinked once or twice, putting his hand to his head. The headache wasn’t quite gone, but the pain had significantly dulled now.

From somewhere beside him, he heard Martha.
“Dude it’s like,” there was a brief pause, “twelve o’clock. You must have been hammered,” he heard a chuckle.

His eyes shot open, “twelfv o-clock??” He bolted up into a sitting position, immediately regretting it, the splitting pain in his head returning. He let himself fall back down to the couch cushion he was now laying on, once again returning his hands to his head, digging his fingers into his hair, groaning, “my pare -nts r going 2 kill me.”

“yeah, you’re the only person who hasn’t left yet. I was waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you to leave,” she perched herself on the coffee table in front of the couch. “My mom’s coming back in the morning and I don’t particularly feel like explaining why you’ve been laying sick and drunk on my couch all night.”

Boris groaned again, “I can’t.. head hurt.”

“Yeah,” Martha said, “you wiped out on my bathroom floor. Walk it off.”

“Can’t see,” he mumbled, bringing his hands to his face.

“Oh my gooodddd,” she sighed, dropping her shoulders, looking up, exasperated, “for real??”

Boris nodded from behind his hands.

She let out another exaggerated, bemoaned sigh. “Fine, you can stay the night,” she turned down to him and scowled, “but I want you out before my mom comes home. And I’m gonna draw on your face as payment.”

“Bleughe,” was Boris’ only response.

Martha uncapped the marker.

Chapter Text

Boris woke up to something rubbing at his cheek.

Squinting open one eye, he recognized Martha’s mother, leaning over him.

She stood upright, retracting her hand from his face, “oh, good morning, hon! Sorry, you uh, had a little,” she gestured to her whole face, “a little something there.”

he went to touch his face, ‘oh, the marker,’ he remembered. So she meant it, about drawing on his face.
‘Oh, the party,’ he remembered. Martha wanted him gone before her mom came home in the morning.
‘Oh, my parents,’ he remembered. They were probably home now, waiting for him.

Boris pushed himself up, “oh, I’m sorrey! I handn’t meant to fall a-sleep!” he went to sit up, “I should prob-bab-lee head home now!!” he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes playfully, “ohhh I know how it goes,” she put her hands to her hips, and, leaning forward a little, winked, “partying hard or hardly partying?” Boris could only stare. She knew about Martha’s party? And she wasn’t mad about it?

She grinned at him, “you think I don’t know the stupid teenage things my daughter does? Here,” she handed him the rag she had in her hand, “there’s still some marker on the left side.”

To his and Martha’s dismay, her mother requested he stay over to have breakfast. They were just pop tarts, but she said she couldn’t just send him home with nothing to eat first. And he did like pop tarts.

She put the toasted pastries before them. They both reached at the same time, with Martha pulling away first, as if not wanting to touch him. Boris didn’t seem to notice. He let Martha take the one on top before picking up his own.

Her mother watched, and smiled sweetly, “you two seem so sweet together! it’s a wonder you aren’t hooked up,” she cooed, interlocking her fingers.

Boris nearly aspirated his pop tart. Martha just leaned forward on the table, lowering her cheek into her palm, “you know I only like girls, mom.”

She seemed to not understand for a second, then suddenly realized with a start, “oh! That’s right, of course! My apologies, Boris,” she half chuckled.

Boris decided he wasn’t going to think any further into that.

-

Finally he reached his front door. It was daunting now. He knew he could tell them Martha’s mother invited him, but that would change that he didn’t ask them if he could go first.

Tentatively, he unbuttoned the floral shirt, and stuffed it in his hair. He smoothed the wrinkles of his undershirt. Unlocking the door as quietly as he could, and stepped across the threshold.

He heard nothing. No yelling, no glass breaking. Not even talking. Not even footsteps. The chips he forgot to bring were still on the coffee table. There was a light on the answering machine.

He pressed it. It played back the message his father inserted, it was your usual ‘leave a message after the beep’, he spoke in Russian. He hated getting voicemails. He recorded the message in Russian specifically as to deter people from leaving voicemails.

the machine beeped.

“Emergency at hospital. Not sure when will be back. Just heat up leftovers for dinner,” his mother spoke.

It beeped again.
So that was it, huh.

“Message received at 8:14 PM,” it droned.

He wanted to be sad that’s all either of his parents had to say, but honestly, he was just glad they weren’t here to be mad about him not being here.

He took up the bag of chips and went up to his room. It was nice to have the rest of the morning to himself.