Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The doorbell rang at the Wheeler house at 2:47 a.m. on a Wednesday morning.

Mike was the one who answered. He didn’t know why he was awake—some blend of caffeine, nightmares, and half-read comics keeping him tangled in sheets—but the doorbell jolted him upright. He blinked into the dark hallway, padded downstairs, and opened the front door in his pajama shirt.

Two figures stood on the porch, lit only by the yellow glow of the porch light. One was small and kind of old-school nerdy/preppy looking, hunched like he didn’t want to be seen. The other, tall and lanky, looked half-dead. Blood crusted the side of his face, bruises mottled his neck, and he clutched a duffel bag to his chest like it was oxygen.

Mike stared.

The short one squinted at him. "Wheeler? Mike Wheeler?"

Mike nodded, still half-asleep.

"We’re, uh...well, this guy's your brother. Kinda. Long story. Can we, uh. Come in?"

Mike didn’t move.

The taller boy coughed, nearly doubling over. The tall one caught him.

Something cold bloomed in Mike's chest.

"Hold on," Mike said. He stepped aside. "You look just like me… on drugs."

The tall one blinked, then let out a breathy, hysterical laugh. "That's fair."

They stumbled in.

Karen Wheeler did not question much. She had seen too many strange boys in too many worse conditions arrive at her house for her maternal instincts to do anything but kick in. By 3:05 a.m., the kettle was whistling. By 3:10, Theo was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and a thousand-yard stare, while Boris lay passed out on the couch.

Mike sat across from him. His knees bounced.

"So," he said. "Start talking."

Theo blinked slowly. He looked pale, exhausted, and a little older than he probably was. He stared into the tea like it had answers.

"Vegas," he said finally. "We were in Vegas. It got…bad."

Mike waited.

"His dad tried to kill him," Theo said flatly.

Mike’s leg stopped bouncing.

"Jesus."

Theo shrugged. "We ran. We took a bus. Got off somewhere in Illinois and just… kept walking. I remembered Boris saying his mom used to talk about this town. Said it was small. Safe. Quiet. Figured—why not try?"

"And when did Boris's mom say this?"

"Four years ago."

"You guys remember shit that was said* four years ago?*" Mike stared, eyebrows raised.

Theo’s mouth quirked. "I remember everything."

Mike leaned back. He looked toward the living room, where Boris was curled under an afghan, too still. "Is he okay?"

"He'll live. That’s more than we could say a week ago."

Mike didn't answer right away. He just stared at the table, then said quietly, "You can stay here. I’ll make sure of it."

Theo looked up sharply, like he didn’t expect kindness.

Mike shrugged. "Karen Wheeler collects broken kids. It’s kind of her thing."

A breath of laughter escaped Theo. It sounded real.

By sunrise, Boris had managed to groggily sit up. Karen fed him toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t speak much—just looked at Mike with wary eyes and muttered a thank you.

He and Mike looked almost eerily similar, now that they were in the same light. Same dark hair, same height, same lanky posture. But where Mike was pale and wide-eyed, Boris had this Joker-esqe half-feral edge to him. Like someone who’d seen too much, and at some point, didn't even bother to flinch.

Theo and Boris both shared the guest room-it wouldn't the first time they slept in the same bed, after all.

By the end of the week, they were officially residents of the Wheeler home, and Hawkins, Indiana, would never be the same again.

Chapter Text

It started the same way most disasters in Hawkins did: quietly.

Three months had passed since Theo and Boris had shown up on the Wheeler porch like ghosts from some half-forgotten fever dream. In that time, they’d become something like normal—or as normal as two emotionally scarred teenage boys with wildly different trauma coping mechanisms could be.

Boris, for one, had charmed half of Hawkins High before he’d even said a full sentence. He didn’t need words. He had the swagger, the sarcasm, and the permanent smirk that made teachers sigh and girls giggle. Max adored him. Dustin called him “Punk Russian Jesus.” Even Mike, when he wasn’t muttering about being copied like a VHS tape, had come to love him like a brother.

But not everyone was sold.

Lucas watched Boris the way one might watch a snake in a petting zoo—like it could snap at any moment. Will was colder. Reserved. And El? El hated him.

She didn’t say it out loud, not really. But the looks she gave—the suspicious glances, the muttered questions to Mike, the unspoken bitterness whenever Boris and Mike laughed a little too hard at something Theo said—they told the whole story. She didn’t trust Boris. And she didn’t like that Mike did.

It happened on a Friday.

Theo was out, walking Karen’s dog around the block to avoid the chaos of after-school crowding. Mike was upstairs with Max and Dustin, showing Boris how to beat Contra with only two fingers and a warped controller. Boris was laughing. Theo could hear it even from the sidewalk.

Back inside, Will sat at the kitchen table with Lucas and El. El’s eyes were sharp.

"He’s hiding something," she whispered. "He’s not who he says he is."

Will tapped his fingers. "Mike says he’s just a guy."

"Mike’s blind," Lucas muttered. "That guy is clearly not just a guy."

"He’s dangerous," El said. Her voice was firmer now. Her gaze didn’t waver.

"So what do we do?" Lucas asked.

Will hesitated. Then, slowly, carefully, he opened his backpack and pulled out a small brown bottle.

"Something mild. Just to… make him sick. Scare him off. Show him he’s not welcome."

El stared at it for a long time.

Then she nodded.

Theo returned an hour later to find the house too quiet. The laughter was gone. Mike was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, quiet.

"Where’s Boris?" Theo asked.

Mike looked up.

"Theo," he said, voice low. "I think something’s wrong. He didn’t come back downstairs."

Theo didn’t wait.

He ran.

The guest room door was cracked. Inside, the lights were off. Boris lay curled on the carpet by the bed, vomit in a small puddle somewhere across the room, trembling.

"Jesus—Boris!" Theo dropped to his knees. "Hey. Hey, hey, look at me. What happened? What happened?"

Boris opened his eyes. Barely. His voice was a whisper.

"They said I was a spy. Said I was evil. Said they knew what I was doing."

Theo’s heart stopped.

He gathered Boris into his arms and yelled for Mike.

They didn’t go to the hospital. Boris was stable, if miserable. Mike brought water, and Karen hovered with cool washcloths and fierce energy. Dustin helped clean the carpet. Max stood in the doorway like a bodyguard.

Theo didn’t speak.

Not until later.

When the others had gone, when Boris had finally fallen asleep, Theo stood in the hallway and stared down at the trio of so-called heroes sitting on the couch.

Lucas looked guilty. Will, ashamed. El crossed her arms like a soldier awaiting judgment.

"You could’ve killed him," Theo said.

No one spoke.

"He survived beatings, starvation, withdrawal, a bullet once. You think this is the thing that breaks him? Poison?"

El flinched.

Theo stepped forward, eyes burning.

"He’s not a monster. But I might be. If you touch him again."

Silence.

Then Max, quiet but firm: "You guys messed up."

Theo didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and went back to Boris, slamming the door behind him.

The house echoed with it.

And Hawkins? Hawkins was about to learn what happens when you hurt the wrong boy.

Chapter Text

Boris woke to soft light and silence.

The first thing he felt was cold—sweat sticking his shirt to his back, his skin clammy like he’d run through a thunderstorm. The second was pain: dull and twisting, like something rotten had curled up in his stomach and died.

His mouth was dry. His throat hurt. Everything ached.

He blinked.

Theo was there.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched forward like he’d been holding the world on his back and finally gave up. His eyes were bloodshot. There was a water glass in his hand and a storm behind his silence.

“You’re awake,” Theo said, voice tight and low.

Boris tried to sit up. Failed.

“No, no—don’t,” Theo whispered, instantly at his side, a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Just… lie back. You're okay.”

Boris let out a broken sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Okay is… generous.”

Theo didn’t smile. He reached for the water and helped Boris hold it, one hand guiding the glass, the other curled protectively around his ribs like he was trying not to shake.

“Mike told me,” Boris rasped after a long minute. “It was them, wasn’t it?”

Theo didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the wall like he was afraid he’d set it on fire if he blinked too hard.

“I don’t understand,” Boris whispered. “What did I do to them?”

“You existed,” Theo said. “You laughed. You were better than they expected you to be.”

There was bitterness there. A sharp, unfamiliar edge. Boris didn’t like it. Didn’t want Theo to carry this weight.

“I’m fine now,” he tried. “See? Alive. Dramatic as always.”

Theo finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And Boris flinched—not because he was afraid, but because there was so much pain in Theo’s expression it nearly split him in half.

“You were on the floor,” Theo said. “Shaking. Barely breathing. I thought—”

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

“I’ve seen you like that before. Vegas. After your dad. But this—this was different.”

He didn’t say worse. He didn’t have to.

Boris leaned back against the pillows. His head throbbed. His skin felt like tissue paper.

“I’m sorry,” Theo said suddenly. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve known.”

Boris reached out, catching Theo’s sleeve with trembling fingers. “No,” he said quietly. “You’re the reason I’m still here.”

A soft knock at the door broke the stillness.

Mike slipped in, eyes cautious but kind. He held a bowl of soup in one hand and a warm washcloth in the other.

“Hey,” he said, offering a crooked smile. “You look like crap.”

Boris snorted. “You try being poisoned. See how dashing you look.”

Mike set the bowl down on the nightstand. “Mom’s doing what she can to keep things calm. Dustin’s on your side. Max too. And Nancy’s already planning a murder board.”

Boris smiled weakly. “Remind me never to cross your sister.”

“Of course." Mike grinned, before turning to Theo. “You should rest too.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Theo didn’t argue.

Mike reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out—Boris’s ratty old deck of playing cards. “Figured you might want something familiar,” he said, setting them gently on the sheets. “You can teach me how to cheat properly when you’re conscious.”

Boris gave a tired smile. “Deal.”

Mike nodded and stepped back.

“I’ll give you guys space. But—Boris?”

He paused at the door.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

When the door clicked shut, Theo turned back to Boris.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said quietly. “Not until you’re ready. Not about them. Not about anything.”

“I know,” Boris murmured.

But he was already thinking about it. About the look in El’s eyes. About the sick feeling of betrayal. About how, even now, a small, traitorous part of him wondered if he had done something wrong.

He looked at Theo again.

That part of him vanished.

Theo didn’t look away. He just reached for Boris’s hand and held it, gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Rest,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, Boris believed him.

Chapter Text

Hawkins had a way of pretending nothing ever happened.

Come Monday, the halls of the high school buzzed with the same fake normalcy that always followed a brush with disaster. Students passed notes, teachers droned on, and lockers slammed like nothing had shifted. But it had. For the Party, everything had changed.

Will couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
Lucas kept trying to joke.
El stood stiffer than ever, like her body was a shield she hadn’t figured out how to lower yet.

And Max? Max watched them like a storm building.

Mike hadn’t come to school.
Neither had Boris.

Theo had, but he wasn’t in class. He didn’t sit. He didn’t speak. He stood against a locker like a statue carved out of anger and sleepless nights, waiting.

They found him after lunch.

Lucas flinched first. “Theo, hey. Look, we—”

“Don’t speak to me.”

It was calm. Quiet. But it hit like a slap.

Theo stepped closer. His tone never wavered.

“Do you know what he asked me last night?”

Silence.

“He asked me if maybe he was dangerous. If he really was what you said. If everything his father did to him was his fault.”

Will looked down.
El's jaw tightened.

Theo kept going.

“He’s fifteen. He flinches when people move too fast. He apologizes for being a normal teenager. And you thought he was some kind of—what?—spy? Assassin? Villain of the week?”

“We were scared,” Will muttered. “We made a mistake.”

“You didn’t make a mistake,” Theo snapped. “You made a choice. And now you have to live with that.”

Lucas looked at Max, who had walked up. Desperate. “Say something.”

Max folded her arms. “What do you want me to say? That it’s fine? That Boris should be grateful he wasn’t poisoned worse? You guys didn’t just mess up. You broke something. And I don’t know if it can be fixed.”

El’s voice was small. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

Theo turned.

“You did.”

Then he walked away.

At home, Boris was propped on the couch with a blanket over his legs and a cat in his lap that Mike swore wasn’t theirs. His color had come back slowly. The pain less so.

“You didn’t have to skip school,” he said hoarsely.

Mike shrugged. “And miss a chance to play Mario Kart in peace? Never.”

Karen brought soup. Nancy hovered, then pretended not to. Even Ted asked if he was feeling better, in his own stunted, awkward way.

“You know,” Boris murmured when they were alone, “I don’t want to hate them.”

Mike looked over.

“I know,” he said. “But you don’t have to forgive them yet.”

Theo returned as the sun dipped low, face tired but triumphant. He didn’t say what he’d done. He didn’t have to.

He sat beside Boris, handed him a cassette tape labeled in careful pen: For My Favorite Junkie

Boris smiled. “Is this the Smiths?”

Theo raised a brow. “Don’t insult me.”

He hit play.
The tape warbled.
Soft guitar. Something sad.

The three of them sat together in the fading light—a little bruised, a little bent, but unbroken.

And this time, when Boris fell asleep, it was peaceful.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five – Ashes and Apologies

Will had never been good with silence.

Not the kind that stretched long and heavy across days, turning moments into minefields. But ever since Theo's words in the hallway, since Boris's quiet absence in their group, that's all there had been.

Silence.
And guilt.

He sat in the Wheeler basement that Saturday, surrounded by the remnants of old game nights—an abandoned Monopoly board, half-eaten chips, the quiet hum of the fridge in the corner. Dustin was fiddling with a new invention in the corner. Max was on the beanbag, arms crossed. El sat apart from them all, gaze low.

Lucas stared at the floor. "We should do something."

"Yeah?" Max said sharply. "Like what? Make another batch of poison cookies?"

Lucas winced. "I didn’t mean for it to go that far."

Will nodded. "None of us did."

Dustin looked up. "You guys know you majorly screwed up, right? Like, this isn't detention-level screw-up. This is lifetime movie betrayal."

El spoke, finally. "I don’t want to be the bad guy."

"Then fix it," Max said. "Apologize. Not with words. With actions."

Boris was well enough to sit outside now, bundled in a hoodie Mike had outgrown. He sat on the back porch, headphones on, cigarette unlit between his fingers, eyes fixed on the horizon like it might change if he stared long enough.

Theo sat nearby, scribbling in a beat-up notebook, the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration.

The sound of feet made them both look up.

Will, Lucas, and El stood at the edge of the yard.

Boris didn’t move.
Theo didn’t stand.

Lucas stepped forward. Slowly.

"We brought something," he said, holding out a small plastic case.

Theo raised an eyebrow. Boris took it cautiously. Inside were handmade mixtapes. Five of them. Labeled in blocky handwriting:

• We Fucked Up Vol. 1

• Songs That (Hopefully) Say Sorry

• Please Don't Set Us on Fire, Theo

• For When You Can't Sleep Because Theo Might Set Someone on Fire

• Peace Offering #5

Theo actually laughed. Just once. A breath through his nose.

Will swallowed. "We're idiots. But we want to make things right."

Boris looked down at the tapes, then up at them. He had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face the world had ever seen. "Maybe before you assume I am Russian Spy, you ask where I am from!" He laughed heartily and Theo's eyes widened.

"Oh no, not again..." Theo murmured as Boris began listing off all the places he was from.

"...Originally from Ukraine." He finished, a twinkle in his eyes. Will, Lucas, and El shifted uncomfortably, finding the situation very funny but believing it wasn't their place to laugh.

El stepped forward. Her eyes were glassy. "I was scared. And I hurt you because of it. That wasn’t right. I am... sorry."

There was a beat.

Then Boris nodded, going serious.

"Okay."

Later, back in the basement, the group reassembled. Not healed, not whole, but beginning again.

Mike hit play on the boombox.
A slow synth beat filled the room.

"Okay," Boris said, stretching out on the couch. "I accept your apology. But I'm picking the next movie. And it will be depressing."

Max grinned. "Bring it on, Junkie Jesus."

Theo smiled from his spot next to Boris. Or rather, underneath Boris, as the boy was sprawled out across poor Theo. They were learning.

Chapter Text

Boris didn’t sleep well, even now.

The poison had flushed from his system days ago, but the exhaustion clung like smoke—thick, cloying, hard to shake. Nights blurred into half-conscious tossing, shirt damp with sweat, music playing softly from the tape deck Theo had set up by the bed.

Tonight, Theo lay beside him—not touching, not speaking, just there. A quiet sentinel in the dark.

“You awake?” Boris said, probably too loud for 1am.

Theo didn’t open his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Boris shifted onto his side, staring into the dark. “Do you think I’m… wrong? Not because of what they did. Just... in general.”

Theo sighed. “You’re not wrong, Boris.”

“You sure?”

“No,” Theo said. “But I'd love you even if you were.”

Boris let out a small laugh, punching the blonde's shoulder playfully.

They didn’t say anything else after that.

The next morning, Mike found himself flanked by both Dustin and Max on the way to school, while Boris and Theo hung back a few paces, engaged in some kind of passionate debate about guitar pedals and which ones were a scam.

“Have you noticed how El’s been acting?” Max asked under her breath.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You mean quiet and tense and kind of like she’s trying not to fry anyone with her brain? Yeah. A little.”

“She was staring at Boris again. Weirdly.”

Dustin leaned in. “It’s like she thinks he’s going to explode. Like, spontaneously combust into Cold War secrets.”

Mike groaned. “Can we not bring up Cold War spy theories? We’ve just stopped the Cold War in my basement.”

But Max didn’t laugh.

Instead, she murmured, “I don’t think this is over.”

That afternoon, while Boris napped and Theo pretended not to be watching him sleep like a creep (or a fag *shook*), Nancy cornered Mike in the kitchen.

“You know this whole thing isn’t going to stay quiet forever.”

Mike blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Will looked like he’d seen a ghost yesterday. Lucas can’t even look at me, and El won’t talk to Mom when she calls. That’s not normal ‘we messed up’ behavior.”

Mike frowned. “You think there’s more to it?”

“I think they’re scared,” Nancy said. “And scared people make stupid decisions.”

She paused. “You’re not going to let anything happen to Boris, are you?”

Mike didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“Good,” she said, and handed him a bowl of soup. “Now bring this to our junkie orphans like a good little brother.”

That night, while Theo worked on lyrics in the guest room and Boris sleepily strummed a half-broken guitar with four strings, the lights flickered once.

Twice.

Boris paused.

“Uh… Mike?”

Mike glanced up from the floor. “Yeah?”

“…You have, like… poltergeists, or is this normal Hawkins thing?”

Mike froze.

And in the walls, something buzzed.

Not electricity.

Not quite.

Something colder.

Watching.

Waiting.

OH NO EL WAAAAA

Chapter Text

Max was the first to notice it.

Boris, once loud and unbothered, had stopped humming when he entered a room. He still joked, still lounged across Theo’s lap like a cat too cool to care, but there was something dulled in his eyes. Some hairline fracture in his bravado that hadn’t been there before. Something quieter. Something colder.

He flinched when El passed too close behind him that morning. Max watched his fingers curl around the strap of his backpack, knuckles white.

Theo caught her staring. Didn’t say a word. Just looked back with an expression so stark and fragile it made her chest ache.

After school, Mike found Boris outside on the porch again. Hoodie up. Headphones in. A sketchbook open in his lap this time, not Theo’s.

He looked like he was trying to draw something specific. Whatever it was, he kept erasing it.

Mike sat beside him without asking.

“Cool birds,” Mike offered, gesturing to the mess of erased graphite.

“They are not birds. They are... metaphor,” Boris muttered.

“For what?”

Boris shrugged. “Being dead inside but still having to flap wings and pretend.”

Mike winced. “Okay. That’s... kind of a lot.”

“You asked.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

“I’m not mad, you know,” Mike said.

Boris looked at him, surprised.

“At who?”

“At you. For not saying anything. For getting sick. For being... whatever this is. You’re allowed to be messed up, man. We're used to weird around here.”

Boris scoffed. “Is that what you tell all the emotionally repressed orphans in your life?”

“No,” Mike said. “Just you.”

And that made Boris smile. A real one. Just barely.

That night, El sat on her bed with her hands in her lap. Still. Silent.

“Are you okay?” Hopper asked gently over the phone.

She didn’t answer right away.

“I hurt someone,” she whispered.

“I know,” Hopper said softly. “You made a mistake.”

El shook her head. “I think I did it on purpose.”

Silence crackled on the other end.

“I didn’t like him,” she said. “He made me feel small. Like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t enough.”

“You don’t have to like everyone,” Hopper said. “But you don’t hurt them, either.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re learning,” he said. “But that starts with fixing what you broke.”

Theo sat on the edge of Boris’s bed that night, watching him sleep like he had for days now. The guitar was gone. The sketchbook was closed.

Boris’s breath caught for a moment—too long.

Theo reached out instinctively, touching his shoulder.

Boris startled awake with a choked breath, sitting up too fast. His hands trembled.

“Bad dream?” Theo asked quietly.

Boris nodded.

Theo said nothing, just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. Tight. Secure.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Theo whispered. “You’re not alone.”

Boris didn’t answer.

But this time, he didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

Theo knew the feeling of something about to give. He’d felt it before.

In the silence between his father’s footsteps.
In the breath before a gun went off.
In Boris’s voice when he said he was fine.

That morning, the Wheeler house buzzed like static. No one really spoke. Not about what happened. Not about what was coming. Mike made eggs and didn’t burn them. That was the closest they came to a miracle.

Boris sat at the table, still half-asleep, hair wild and sticking up like a sad mushroom cloud. He stared at the wall like it owed him money. And knowing Boris, it probably did-for some reason or another.

Theo placed a mug of coffee in front of him and didn’t expect a thank-you.

Max arrived later, dropped off by her mom, which she hated. She slipped into the kitchen, eyes sharp.

"He doesn’t look good," she whispered to Mike.

"He didn’t sleep. Again."

"That makes four nights in a row."

Mike glanced over. Boris was still sitting there, unmoving. He hadn’t touched the coffee.

Theo was watching, too.

Later that day, while Mike and Theo argued over whether to let Boris come to the arcade ("He needs to move," "He needs to not pass out in a public place"), Boris quietly grabbed his hoodie and slipped outside.

Max saw him go.

They found him slumped against the back fence fifteen minutes later. Unconscious. Breathing shallow.

Theo got there first. He dropped to his knees, voice cracking.

"Boris? Hey. Hey, hey, come on—wake up, you asshole. Please."

Max hovered behind, frozen.

Mike shouted for Nancy.

Theo shook him, gently but desperate, and Boris groaned.

"Jesus," Theo whispered, close to tears.

Boris opened his eyes slowly. "Did I die? Because this feels like hell."

Theo laughed, half-hysterical. "You smell like hell. That’s close enough."

Boris winced. "Okay. Ow. Sarcasm hurts."

Nancy ran out with water. Theo helped Boris sit up and forced him to drink.

Max crouched down next to him, face pale.

"You scared the shit out of us."

Boris glanced at her, something like guilt flickering across his face. "I scare myself, too."

Mike stood to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest.

"You have to stop doing this," he said, voice low.

"Doing what?"

"Pretending like you’re not hurt. Pretending like you’re okay."

Boris blinked. Then, very softly, "What else am I supposed to do?"

No one had an answer.

That night, Theo sat beside him in bed, sketchbook open between them.

Boris held the pencil loosely. His hands still shook.

"What do I draw?" he asked.

Theo looked at him. "Something real. Even if it hurts."

Boris nodded. Then started to draw.

Something cracked open.

It didn’t make a sound.

But it was there.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Boris didn’t come downstairs.

Nancy noticed first. Then Mike. Then Theo, who didn’t even put on shoes before jogging up the stairs two at a time.

The door was unlocked. The room was dark.

Theo hesitated in the doorway.

"Boris?"

A groan answered him. Not annoyed, not sarcastic. Just tired. Raw.

Theo stepped in, heart pounding.

Boris was curled in the corner of the bed, buried beneath three blankets and Mike's old Star Wars comforter. Only a mess of black hair stuck out. His face was turned away.

"I'm not dead," came the muffled reply. "Just don't want to be a person right now."

Theo sat on the edge of the bed. Quiet for a long time.

Then: "I think you should tell me what happened."

Boris didn’t move.

"I already did."

"You told me they poisoned you. You didn't tell me what they said."

A pause.

Then, slowly, like it hurt to say: "They said they knew what I was. That they weren’t going to let me hurt anyone."

Theo’s throat tightened. "You would never—"

"I know that. You know that. They don’t."

Theo reached out, laid a hand on the blankets. Not touching Boris. Just there.

"Do you believe them?"

Boris didn’t answer. But his silence said enough.

Downstairs, Mike was pacing.

"I want to talk to them. Will, El, Lucas. I want to know what the hell they were thinking."

Nancy leaned against the counter. "You think they’ll tell you? They won’t even look me in the eye."

Max folded her arms. "El looked scared last time I saw her. Like she knew she’d screwed up. But Lucas... he was pissed. Defensive. Like we were the bad guys."

Dustin sighed. "We need to do something. This can’t keep going."

Mike stopped pacing. "We don’t let them near Boris again. Not until we figure this out. Not until they talk."

He looked up, eyes burning.

"Because next time? They might not stop at poison."

That night, Boris didn’t come downstairs again.

But Theo stayed with him.

He didn’t ask questions. Not anymore.

He just stayed.

And Boris, eventually, leaned into the touch.

bc theyre all just cute lil gays 🤭

Chapter Text

Will didn’t expect to find Mike waiting on his porch. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. Eyes dark.

He didn’t even say hi.

"Why did you do it?"

Will froze.

Mike stepped forward. "Don’t play dumb. You poisoned Boris. You and Lucas and El. What the hell were you thinking?"

Will opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then said, "We thought he was dangerous."

"Based on what? His accent? The fact that Max likes him?"

Will flinched.

"We’ve been through worse things than this. Monsters. Military Russians. And you're telling me you thought Boris was the threat?"

"We didn’t know what he was hiding! He just showed up! He’s secretive, always around Theo. We thought he might be manipulating him. Or you."

Mike stared.

"You thought he was manipulating me."

Will looked away. "I didn’t think it clearly. I just... El was scared. Lucas had a feeling. And I... I went along with it."

Mike stepped back. "He almost died, Will."

Will paled.

"And he still hasn’t come out of bed."

"I didn’t think it would actually hurt him that bad. I thought... he was used to that kind of thing."

"Why the hell would anyone be used to being poisoned?"

Will swallowed hard. "I was wrong."

Mike nodded tightly. "Yeah. You were."

El didn’t answer the door.

So Max broke in.

"You can’t keep hiding," she said as she stood in El’s room, arms folded. "We saw what you did. And we’re not just going to forget."

El sat on her bed, curled up, barely looking up. "I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just... I thought he was like them. Like the bad men."

"Boris isn’t a monster. He’s just... sad. And hurt. And funny in that weird, dumb way."

El sniffed. "I was jealous. He took Mike."

"Mike is allowed to have other friends. Other people he cares about. You don’t get to punish someone for that."

El nodded slowly.

"You want to make it right? Start by apologizing."

That night, Theo sat on the floor by Boris’s bed.

He was asleep, finally. Still shivering, but breathing soft and even. Theo watched the rise and fall of his chest and didn’t move.

Mike knocked gently and stepped in.

"Will came clean. So did Max. And El. They feel awful."

Theo didn’t answer.

"They want to see him."

Theo finally looked up. "No."

Mike nodded.

"Okay. Then they won’t."

He left the door open behind him.

Theo stayed.

And Boris slept.

Chapter Text

Boris didn’t remember falling asleep. He only knew that when he woke up, Theo was still there.

Curled awkwardly at the foot of the bed. One hand tangled in the edge of the comforter. Face pale and drawn.

Boris stirred and blinked against the dim morning light.

"You're still here?"

Theo cracked one eye open. "Of course I’m still here."

Boris gave a weak snort. "You’re not very smart."

Theo smiled faintly. "Nope. Just stubborn."

Boris shifted slowly, head pounding. His stomach lurched, but it was less sharp than yesterday. Still, everything hurt in a distant, underwater way.

"I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"You were poisoned, Bor."

"Yeah. But a truck, too."

Theo gave a tired laugh and reached over to smooth Boris’s hair back.

"You need to eat something. Mike made toast. It’s cold by now. But I told him you’d try."

Boris closed his eyes again. "Fine. For Mike."

Downstairs, Nancy was already dressed for school, sitting at the table with Max. The silence between them was not unfriendly—just strained.

Max glanced up when Mike entered. "Is he okay?"

"Still weak," Mike said. "But awake."

Nancy folded her arms. "Are they ever going to apologize properly?"

Mike sat down hard. "I don't think Boris wants them to. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"Fair."

Max looked down at the table. "I feel like I should've done more. Seen it coming. I knew something was off."

Mike shook his head. "It’s not your fault. You saw the signs, yeah. But you didn’t think your friends would try to kill him."

Nancy looked at both of them. "We should talk to them. As a group. Us. The ones who actually care about keeping this family together."

Mike nodded slowly.

"Okay. Then we do it tonight. After school."

El stood in her mirror that afternoon, staring at herself like she didn’t recognize the face looking back.

She hadn’t spoken to Lucas or Will since that day. The guilt made her feel like her skin didn’t fit.

Max had been right. Boris wasn’t a monster. He was sarcastic and loud and weird, but he was also soft when it counted. She remembered him giving his last cookie to Flora when she saw him. How he’d covered her with a blanket when she fell asleep watching TV.

She felt sick.

She had almost taken that away.

Lucas sat in the bleachers after practice, staring at the half-empty gym.

He remembered the way Boris had laughed when Max beat him at Mario Kart.

He remembered Theo standing like a wall between them the day after.

Lucas hadn’t slept well in days.

That night, the group met at the Wheeler house.

Nancy called it an intervention.

Mike called it damage control.

Theo didn’t say anything. He just sat with one hand resting lightly on Boris’s knee as the boy curled up next to him on the couch, hoodie two sizes too big.

Will looked like he’d been crying.

El could barely meet Boris’s eyes.

Lucas tried to speak first. "I—"

"Stop," Boris said softly. "I don’t want excuses. Just want you to listen."

Silence fell.

He sat up a little, leaning into Theo. "You don’t get to decide who I am. You don’t get to decide who I will be. I’ve been through hell, I look sketchy, and maybe I’m not easiest person to trust. But I never gave you reason to kill me."

Will flinched. El looked down.

"I forgive you," Boris said. "Because if I don’t, it’ll eat me alive. But I don’t forget. And I don’t trust you. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

Theo squeezed his knee.

"You want to make it right? Be better. That’s it. No apologies, no pity. Just do better."

No one spoke for a long time.

Then Max stood up. "Well said."

And the meeting ended.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned grey and overcast. Boris sat outside on the back steps, a blanket over his shoulders, Theo next to him with a thermos of tea balanced on his knee.

It was the first time Boris had left the house since the incident.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come outside. Just that the air felt less heavy here. Cleaner. And he could breathe.

"You okay?" Theo asked.

Boris shrugged. "Yeah. But the tea’s better."

Theo let out a  humorous huff. "Progress."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the trees rustle. It was quiet in that soft, suburban way Boris still wasn’t used to. Like nothing could hurt him here. Like the world had taken a breath and forgotten about him.

"I think El's going to try and talk to you today," Theo said gently.

Boris didn’t answer.

"You don’t have to say anything. Just... maybe let her. She looks like she hasn’t slept."

"Good," Boris said darkly.

Theo gave him a look.

"Fine. I won’t spit on her. That’s all I can promise."

Mike was in the garage when El knocked on the side door.

"He’s outside," Mike said, wiping his hands on a rag. "But don’t push it, okay? He’s still... not all there."

El nodded. "I just want to say something. Not even ask for forgiveness. Just... something."

Mike looked at her carefully, then stepped aside.

The grass was wet when El stepped onto the lawn, shoes sinking slightly. Boris didn’t look at her at first. Just took another sip of tea.

Theo stood quietly and walked inside.

El stopped a few feet away. "I was wrong."

Boris still didn’t look at her.

"I should've put more poison. Fuck you."

Silence.

She walked away.

Boris finally glanced over. His face was...very surprised. He laughed his ass off.

Theo RAGED. "ELEVEN GET YOUR BITCHY ASS BACK HERE RIGHT NOW OR I'M SHOVING MY CIGARETTE BUTT SO FAR DOWN YOUR THROAT YOU CAN FEEL IT IN YOUR FUCKING FUCKED UP ASS."

El blinked.

A beat.

"You saw something in Boris that scared you," Theo continued. "But it wasn't him that was the danger. IT WAS FUCKING ME. AND NOW YOU'RE GONNA TASTE MY FUCKED UP WRATH BECAUSE YOUR PISS-LICKING SHIT-EATING MOTHERFUCKING WHORE FACE DESERVES IT TIMES GODDAMN TEN!"

She swallowed. "I know."

"THEN PREPARE FOR IT. BECAUSE I'M DONE GIVING WARNINGS."

She nodded.

"Thank you for letting me say that." Theo smiled venemously.

El didn’t respond. Boris was barely suppressing a laugh, his face going completely, utterly bright red.

But Theo didn’t get up and set El on fire.

And that was something.

Later, in the living room, Boris curled up on the couch with a book. Theo sat beside him, reading silently.

Mike walked in, holding a handful of letters from the mailbox. One had Theo's name on it, scrawled in Boris’s handwriting.

Theo opened it.

It was a drawing.

The whole group—stick figures, but detailed enough to tell who was who. Max grinning. Mike with messy hair. Nancy holding a camera. Theo pushing his glasses up his nose, holding a painting-a very familiar one. And Boris, somewhere in the middle, in a coat too big for him, joint sticking out of his mouth, smiling faintly.

At the bottom, a single line:

"Still here."

Boris noticed Theo open the letter and grinned. "Now that you have that and know i'm ok, please don't actually set anyone on fire. With the tapes, I thought friends were being funny. Now, I think maybe they were being serious." Theo and Boris grinned gayly at each other.

"No promises!" Theo sang, and Boris smacked him playfully across the face with his soft, socked foot.

Chapter Text

The days passed slowly after that. Boris got stronger. He stopped flinching when someone knocked on the door. Started eating real food again. Even showered without Theo having to sit on the floor outside the bathroom.

There were still nightmares. Still that deep, bone-deep ache that wouldn’t leave. But he was healing, in his own way.

One morning, Max showed up with chocolate croissants. "Peace offering," she said. "Or bribe. Depends on if you hate me or not."

"I could never hate you," Boris said, voice still raspy from sleep. "You're the only one who didn't try to kill me."

Max smiled wryly. "Low bar, but thanks."

She settled on the floor beside the couch, and Boris shared the blanket he was curled in. "You're a real mess, you know," Max said.

"Takes one to know one."

They both laughed.

Meanwhile, Will had taken to avoiding the Wheeler house. He couldn’t stand the tension. Couldn’t stand seeing Theo’s face and knowing what he'd been part of.

Lucas tried to act like everything was normal, but his jokes fell flat, his smiles forced. And El—El had gone quiet again. Withdrawn.

They weren't shunned. Not quite. But things had changed.

The Party wasn’t what it used to be.

Mike sat with Theo on the porch one night, both of them sipping soda.

"You ever think this is all just... too weird?" Mike asked. "Like, there’s no universe where this should have worked. You and Boris. All of us."

Theo shrugged. "Maybe. But weird doesn't mean wrong."

Mike nodded slowly. "He likes it here."

"Yeah. Me too."

They sat in silence, and the cicadas buzzed in the bushes.

Inside, Boris stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Shirt off, fingers tracing faded bruises.

He didn't cry. Just looked.

"Still here," he whispered to himself.

And then he turned the water on. Let it run hot. And stepped into the shower alone. (thinking abt Theo cause they're so gay lol)

Chapter Text

The house was quiet. Max had gone home, Mike was out with Dustin, and El had stopped coming around. For once, it was just the two of them.

Theo sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through a dog-eared paperback with half the cover torn off. Boris lay behind him, half-curled, his chin tucked into the curve of Theo’s back like it was the only place in the world that made sense.

“You always steal the blankets,” Theo murmured without looking up.

“I never said I wasn’t selfish,” Boris mumbled into his shirt. “You should know by now.”

Theo twisted to glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I know. You're the worst. Utter nightmare.”

Boris grinned, sleepy and soft. “But your nightmare.”

Theo stared at him for a long moment, the kind that stretches time, makes it fragile. Then he turned, reaching over to brush a strand of Boris’s hair out of his face.

“I’m never going to stop being mad about what they did to you,” he said quietly.

“I know. But I’m still here. And so are you.”

Theo leaned forward, forehead resting against Boris’s. Their breathing slowed, synced.

“You’re warm,” Boris whispered.

“You’re clingy,” Theo replied, but didn’t pull away.

They stayed like that. Wrapped in the hush of the room, in the quiet after everything broke, in the healing that didn’t need permission.

Later, Theo would fall asleep first, head on Boris’s chest, book forgotten on the floor. And Boris would stay awake just a little longer, watching the ceiling, fingers tangled in Theo’s shirt.

forever his.