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Another day that only really starts when they get off the bus. Another day that will probably amount to nothing. Another day that he just has to get through to get to the next.
“I hate the sun,” Boris says in his Russian accent like he does every day. He takes out his umbrella from his bag and puts it up. They walk under it, their shadows following. “What to do today. Swim? Beer? Ah, vodka.” He raises an eyebrow, looking for Theo’s agreement. “Potter?”
“Hm?” He snaps his head up. “Vodka?”
Boris flicks him on the forehead. “God, you are out of it today.”
“Ow! Shit. Boris!” He smacks him on the arm.
“Hah, baby,” he teases. “Vodka then.”
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“A secret, Potter,” Boris utters, taking another swig from the bottle they pass between them. “Tell me a secret.”
Theo thinks. Theo thinks hard. He has so many. So many things that would be secret till he voiced them, locked away in his mind. “I read books I’m not supposed to.”
“Books? What kind?” He says, passing the bottle to Theo.
He takes a second. He’s never told anyone this. And once he says it, it won’t be a secret anymore. He’ll be sharing it with Boris.
But maybe that will be okay.
“They’re like a lot of other books. Usual sappy romance storylines… but they don’t have a girl for the guy to fall in love with.”
Boris thinks about this for a minute. “Not like stupid books we read in class?” Theo shakes his head. “So the guy, he falls in love with… another guy?” He nods this time. “Hah, I read book like that once. It was good. Got any I could read?”
Theo points to a stack of books on the bedside table. Words seem to have left him.
Boris picks the books up and shuffles through them. He flips one over to read the blurb. “Giovanni? Odd name.” Theo hums an agreement. “Can I borrow?” He says turning to him.
“Yeah.”
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Music blares into their ears, filling the room and shaking the walls. They dance. Not in time with the music, or even with each other. But they dance and they turn and they laugh, all in between sips of alcohol and spinning colors in their vision from whatever they had taken earlier.
“So you’re telling me,” Boris tries to yell over loud guitar. “You never heard them before? Never in your life?”
“Nope!” Theo shouts back, undoing the tie around his neck slightly and moves his hips from side to side. “Never!”
“Hah! Some life!” Boris laughs. “Do you like them?”
Theo beams. “Yeah! I do!”
He puts the bottle on the table and dances around the armchair, flailing his hands out completely oblivious to how he looks. Mad and wild dancing out of beat to a song he’s never heard before. He tries to sing, but doesn’t know the words. Boris laughs at his mouth trying to catch the odd phrase, but Theo just looks like a bird begging for food. So he joins the mad dancing, arms just as wild.
“You are weird, Potter! Mad!” Despite the harsh comment, Boris was smiling.
“I know!” Theo giggles.
And they dance till they can’t breathe anymore.
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“Is your nose okay, Potter?” Boris asks, his Russian accent prominent.
Theo holds the tissue closer to his nose, feeling the surface touching his skin getting damp. “I guess.” His voice sounds more nasily than normal. “You didn’t have to shove me into the damn wall so fucking hard though.”
Boris picks at the lint on his socks. “I know. Sorry,” he says, almost not committing to it.
“Dickhead.”
Boris chuckles. “Yeah, maybe.”
“You are. Boris Dickhead. That’s your name,” he laughs. The bleeding picks up, so his giggles are short-lived.
“You are only saying that because you can’t pronounce my name.” Boris looks up from his feet. “Pa-vli-kov-sky,” he sounds out. “You say.”
“Pa-vil-of-sky.” Boris laughs at the attempt. “No. Wait. Pa-vli-of-sky. No. Pa-vli-of- I give up.”
“Repeat after me. Pa.”
“Pa.”
“Vli.”
“Vli.”
“Kov.”
“Kov?”
Boris nods. “Sky.”
“Sky.”
“Pavlikovsky.”
“Pavliofsky. Shit! I can’t say it.”
“Dickhead is fine.”
Theo laughs. “Dickhead.”
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“How do you think you’ll die?” Theo asks into the dark.
“Head blown off,” Boris says without hesitation, miming out an explosion that Theo could only just see in the low-lit room. “Brains everywhere and blood raining down like horror film.”
“Wouldn’t that hurt a lot?” He asks, his mother at the back of his mind.
“No. I will be dead before I feel anything.” They stay silent. Death looming over them, contamintating their thoughts. “What about you? How will you die?” Boris asks after a while.
“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
They both laugh. They don’t know why. They laugh and laugh and laugh, even as death stares at them. It seems like such a funny prospect to them as they lie there next to each other, safe together in bed, cozy under the covers. Death cannot touch them here. Here they are safe. If one of them dies here, they’ll both be dead. So they don’t have to worry.
“Maybe I’ll never die. Maybe I’m actually immortal.”
“Hah! Wishful thinking, Potter,” Boris laughs. “But maybe.”
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They float next to each other on the surface of the water and look up at the bright sky.
“You can see the stars so clearly,” Theo whispers. “In the city, you can’t. It’s just black,” he brings a hand up and strokes it across the sky. “Covering the whole sky.”
“Light pollution,” Boris hums.
“Maybe I’ll stay here forever. I have you, and I have the stars. I don’t need anything else do I?”
“Food, maybe.” Boris splashes the water around him.
“But I have you and the stars. In the city you can’t see the stars.” And I can’t see you.
“At the city, you have a home. The desert is not a home. It’s dead.”
“Guess you can’t have everything.” Theo lets out a breathy laugh. “I’ll stay here. I want to see the stars every night, with you.”
“You are very drunk, Potter,” Boris chuckles.
“And high.”
“And high,” he repeats.
Boris tucks his legs in and sinks to the bottom of the pool. Theo follows him. Their limbs tangle in the water, pushing against each other, hitting and kicking. Theo holds Boris’ arms out, stopping him from hitting him anymore, but Boris just smiles. One that he tries to hide, but a smile nonetheless.
They wrestle under the water for as long as their breath lets them.
Theo laughs and bubbles rise from his mouth. Then the boys do too, trying to catch their breath.
Theo still holds Boris’ arms, slightly wary of an attack. He notices the tight grip as the air returns to his lungs and he clings harder to Theo, looking him straight in the eyes.
“Are you okay?” He asks, still holding him, worried that Theo is using him as support.
“Yeah,” he leans forward slightly, further into Boris. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Potter,” Boris whispers.
Theo looks up and is met with lips on his. Boris tastes of pool water and is slightly cold from the night air, but it quickly fades away, bubbling up into new warmth and sweet flavours on their tongues.
And then it’s over and they’re out of the water in drenched clothes that cling to their bodies.
“Shit.”
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Boris is oddly quiet.
He’s not asleep, Theo knows that much. But he hasn’t moved for a good half an hour, and Theo’s thoughts are going a hundred miles an hour. He’s tried to speak to him multiple times, but the words got stuck in his throat, or he was overrun with even more thoughts. Telling him that he did something wrong, that Boris now hated him, and they will never talk again, despite the mere centimetres between them.
He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates this so much.
Maybe if he had just gotten out of the pool sooner. Or never invited Boris over. Never talked to him on the bus. Never moved to fucking Las Vegas to begin with. Maybe if he was still with Barbours. Maybe if his mother was still alive. Maybe if he just stayed away from Tom Cable and his fucking cigarettes. Then his mother would still be here. And they could live like they did before. He would even make friends with Andy. Maybe then everything would be okay again. And he wouldn’t have this painting to lug around everywhere. What was he supposed to do with it? Where was he going to go next? Would he even be able to take it with him? What-
“Potter.” Theo jumps at his voice., though it is barely above a whisper. “Potter, stop. Potter.”
Boris wraps an arm around him. His mind shifts immediately to the touch.
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. I-”
“Potter, shush. Shh,” Boris says, firm, but caring. “Sleep, Potter. Спать, солнце. It is okay. Sleep.”
He starts gently rubbing circles into Theo’s arm.
He doesn’t want to go anywhere ‘next’. He wants to stay here. Right here. Safe with Boris. Safe in bed with Boris. The faint smell of chlorine on their skin. The smooth touch of Boris’ hand rubbing circles on his arm. The sounds of crickets outside the window. Their hair tangling together slightly on the pillow they now share.
He wishes he could stay here forever. Immortal here forever.
His eyelids droop and his mind fogs up with sleep. He dreams of stars and colours and Boris. He doesn’t wake up that night.