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Boris clenched his jaw as he wandered through the room full of unfamiliar faces. He didn’t know why he had bothered to come here. He was completely out of place in his old denim jacket and worn leather boots as he stalked across pristine white marble floors and under thousands of dazzling white lights.
When Garland had hesitantly invited him to the family's annual holiday party, Boris knew it was just some petty scheme the man had cooked up to piss off his father. No amount of free alcohol was going to change the fact that Garland was simply weaponizing his abrasive personality against his family.
Which made Boris posit the question to himself. Did any of this mean anything?
Probably not.
He ignored the lingering stares by well dressed men and women in their beautiful gowns. Looks that made it all too clear he didn’t belong in this immaculate ballroom full of some of Europe's most affluent families. Not that Boris had any desire to belong to the world full of extravagant waste and empty platitudes that Garland had known his whole life. A life he knew if push came to shove Garland would never step away from. Always too seduced by the power and status that came with it. It was just another affirmation to Boris that this was just some rebellious statement Garland was making to the Siebald patriarch and nothing more. A statement he would inevitably backtrack on the next time it benefitted him.
Whatever.
All he had to do tonight was simply create enough of a scene to distress Ulrich Siebald and he could get the fuck out of here with some fancy vintage liquor. Maybe he’d even be rewarded further when the gathering ended. The thought made the corner of Boris’ lips curl upward. He ought to enjoy it while it lasted.
Boris finally spotted the long hair he’d become accustomed to pulling and made a sharp turn towards him. Plastering a cocky smirk on his face as he approached Garland. He was dressed in some tacky designer suit, and looked uncomfortable as he conversed with an older man that Boris assumed must be daddy dearest, and some fuckwit who looked like he’d come here straight from a photoshoot for stock photos of an arrogant businessman.
He wrapped an arm around Garland as he came to stand beside him, digging his fingers into the man's side as he pulled him close, invading his personal space. Boris saw the subtle downturn of Garland’s lips, as if he hadn’t anticipated Boris would cause this kind of scene. Good.
“Sorry I’m late, babe,” Boris said acrimoniously, flashing Garland a predatory grin. He watched the other man’s eyes narrow slightly.
“You’re late… but I’m glad you were able to make it,” Garland replied, his words coated by a fake affectionate veneer that masked what would otherwise be outward annoyance. Garland attempted to remove Boris’ hand from his side as subtly as possible. A likely attempt to escape the ever increasing number of eyes staring at him from every angle of the room. Boris responded to the gesture by simply tightening his grip, allowing his nails to dig into the tan skin, hopeful to leave an unsightly bruise.
“Yeah well, some of us have to work for a living,” he spoke, mockingly. Knowing Garland hadn’t missed the slight sneer on his face as he quickly turned his attention back to his father and the asshole who looked like the living embodiment of all the unloved children of rich parents.
Garland didn’t need to offer an introduction to his father for the older man to immediately understand the situation. And as far as he was concerned, his queer phase was just an act of defiance and eventually he’d settle down like all his older siblings before him. And so the unruly man who was pulling his son uncomfortably close would be a long forgotten memory in a couple months time. Not that it changed the scene he was making right now, at his family's christmas celebration, in front of several key figures.
Boris could only compare the look he received from Ulrich Siebald to that of Vladimir Volkov. A look that wordlessly let him know he was disposable trash that would inevitably have no further use. It was an unsettling feeling that made him want to lunge forward and plant his fist directly into Garland’s fathers face. But that would probably be taking it too far. Garland had made it clear that he only wanted to be vindictive towards his father, not cause him physical harm.
“You must be… a friend of Garlands?” The question was from the man who was so generic he was nearly invisible as he stood beside Garland's father.
“Yeah, a friend,” Boris ground out in annoyance through gritted teeth. Not interested in making small talk with some side character.
“We were just talking about that actually,” the nameless man continued, taking Boris’ reply as permission for him to continue to speak.
“You were?” Boris inquired flatly, sure to convey his disinterest hoping the man would get the hint and shut up.
“Yes, I was assuring Mr. Siebald not to worry too much about it… I had one of those too before I married my wife!” The man exclaimed, as if it were the punchline of a joke. Boris noticed the elder Siebald smirk at him in his periphery. It was now clear what Garland’s physical discomfort moments ago had been about.
The exchange made Boris feel sick, because it took him back to a time in his own life when he was just a product of his maker, intended to do as he was told and live up to his expectations. Never his own person, never with his own worth. Moments like this almost forced Boris to reckon with how similar he and Garland were.
Almost.
“Is that so? Well I guess I’ll just have to enjoy it while it lasts,” Boris replied, feigning amusement before quickly removing his hand from its place on Garland's side like he was suddenly touching acid. He excused himself from the conversation to get a drink.
Boris stalked through the crowd of people, pushing his way through guests, ignoring their annoyed noises and glances. He stood at the bar that was tucked away in the corner of the room for a while until the attention on him shifted towards other things. When every occupant had seemed to lose interest in him he took his drink and dipped through the nearest open door. Detouring further from the corridor leading towards the washrooms and further into the sterile, uninhabited looking mansion.
This was supposed to be easy, all he had to do was show up and cause some drama, and get the hell out of dodge. Somehow, it seemed like Garland’s father had anticipated his son’s theatrics and had hatched his own, equally petty, scheme.
Boris ducked into some small alcove in the dark corridor he'd aimlessly wandered into and stared out the large window at the black inky sky. His mind repeating the unknown man’s words over and over. He was suddenly haunted with the idea that one day, that would be Garland too. That he would marry some woman his father approved of, have a couple children with her and strip away every interesting, unique characteristic of himself. That his long hair, and flamboyant fashion sense would be replaced by the same generic catalogue appearance every other immensely wealthy adult man had. That Garland would inevitably fall in line, just like everyone else and become just another shallow, uninspired, barely human, businessman.
He continued to spiral, plagued by these harrowing thoughts until he was interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name.
“You weren’t supposed to leave until you got on my father’s nerves,” Garland said, irritation in his voice as he stared up at Boris.
“Yeah well you didn’t tell me your father was equally as petty as you!” Boris snapped back, angrily.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Garland asked, pressing his lips together in a tight line.
“That he specifically brought some asshole with him to tell us all about his life before marriage,” he grumbled, refusing to look in Garland’s direction.
“You mean Noah? Ignore him, everyone thinks he’s an idiot,” Garland replied dismissively, moving his own gaze to look out the window, in an attempt to see whatever Boris was so interested in that he wouldn’t look him in the eyes. However, there was nothing but black starless sky.
A suffocating silence descended on the two men as they stood in the dimly lit alcove. Garland was waiting for a response and Boris wasn’t sure what to tell him anymore. Should he ask him how temporary their relationship was? Would Garland simply vanish one day and be replaced by some pompous skinwalker? Did any of this mean anything?
“I didn’t like the way they were looking at us,” Boris settled on saying eventually, his gaze finally shifting towards his silent companion.
“How were they looking at us?” Garland asked, clearly taken off guard by the words. However many hundreds of things Garland had anticipated Boris could say, this clearly wasn’t one of them.
“Like this was temporary… that you weren’t really mine,” Boris declared, exhaling a frustrated sigh as he watched Garland’s eyebrows furrow before he slowly moved his head to directly look at Boris.
There was another brief silence before Garland shifted, stepping towards Boris, invading his personal space in the same way Boris had done to him earlier. His hands moved to rest on Boris’ waist and he looked up at him with a sultry stare, before replying almost inaudibly:
“Then prove to everyone I’m yours.”
And at least for now, Boris wouldn’t worry about any of it.