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Theo was staring up at the stars, or more like the smog of Las Vegas, laying on the street. Boris was nudging his side body with the tip of his boot, saying something that Theo couldn't quite make out. Boris was speaking English, at least, that's what Theo thought. But when Theo was drunk, when Theo was high, and especially when Theo was sad, he didn't speak any language; he didn't understand anything at all.
"Teodore Decker, I swear to fuck. If you do not get up, I am dragging you all the way to your house," Boris said, staring down into Theo's glazed over eyes.
"No," Theo murmured, his eyes blinking closed. "No. Just leave me here."
"Leave you here?" Boris exclaimed. "Leave you? Leave you in the middle of the road? Нет. Please get up, Potter. I am tired."
"No," Theo restated. "Just go. If I, you know. I'm making you tired, just go. I'm sorry."
"I am not going to leave," Boris insisted. He crouched down and hoisted Theo up, trying and failing to bring him to his feet. "Блядь, please stand up."
Theo turned into his side, curling himself up, trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe if he did that, Boris wouldn't see him anymore, and he would leave. And then maybe, by a stroke of luck, someone would drive into their shitty little neighborhood and run Theo over. Smashing his glasses into his face, shards poking at his brain, turning off the endless anxieties.
Boris got down onto the road with Theo, kneeling down and grabbing Theo by his arms. He stood up and began inching Theo out of the road.
"Stop!" Theo shouted. "Just leave me to die!"
"You are not going to die! Not until I say you can," Boris told him. "Do not even talk about that. Do not even suggest it."
"I want to die," Theo wailed. "Just let me die. I want to be dead."
"I told you, do not say it," Boris reiterated, placing Theo down onto the side of the road. He sat down next to the other, catching his breath. Really, Theo wasn't heavy. Boris was just very thin and couldn't really lift all that much. "Do not say it. It is not true."
"There's nothing here for me, Boris," Theo mumbled, reaching out for something, anything. Nothing. "Nothing. There's nothing. There's no point to any of this."
Boris took Theo's hand. "Nothing? You have me," Boris answered. "You have, um, you have me, да. You have food. You have house. You have water. You have bed."
"None of it matters," Theo told him monotonously. "Nothing matters. There's no point."
"I do not matter to you?"
"Ugh, you're, you're putting words in my mouth! I didn't say that! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it's all my fault!" Theo cried, kicking his legs against the dirt. "Everything is my fault!"
Boris held Theo's hand for a moment longer, before standing up and begining to inch Theo further towards his, or really, their house.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Boris, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Theo repeated. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." No answer. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!"
"You do not have to say sorry," Boris said back finally. "There is nothing to be saying this for. You have done nothing. Nothing is your fault."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Theo continued anyway. "I really am sorry, I don't want to be like this. I'm sorry."
"Please don't say sorry anymore," Boris sighed, making one last final drag before they arrived at Theo's front door. "I do not, Theo, I should say sorry. I am sorry you feel this way."
"It's my fault," Theo sniffled. "I did it. I do everything wrong. I ruined my life. I don't have any friends, my dad hates me and I basically fucking killed my mother—"
"Stop," Boris interrupted loudly. "That is not true in the slightest. You are crazy person to think like that. Never say that ever again."
"It's true," Theo whimpered. "If, if I didn't have those damn cigs and I didn't—"
"Нет, Teo! You will never ever blame yourself for that!" Boris said directly. "It is not your fault. Nothing is your fault. Your father is, well, I don't know. But you do have friends. You have me. Maybe you hate me and think I do not matter. But I am not letting you die, or letting you blame yourself for shit that you have nothing to do with, да? You will stay, and you will not go."
"I want to go. I deserve it," Theo mumbled. "I'm going to Hell."
"Yes, you are, Potter. I cannot deny that. But, guess what? You have a long time to wait for that, because I make sure you are not dying any time soon. And even then, I will be meeting you there, anyway."