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Anton had expected finding Sasha to be the most significant moment of his life. He had expected thrill, and adrenaline, and the biggest, most crushing reunion that made it feel like it was all worth it, and everything was going to be okay. A reunion that made him forgive -or at least forget- all the horrible things he had learned about his very best friend.
But now Sasha was unconscious on his couch, and Anton had no idea what to do.
He didn’t even know what kind of “unconscious” this was. Pure exhaustion, or starvation, or something worse? He shouldn’t dismiss the possibility of an overdose. As horrible as it sounded, that might even be the most likely answer. Anton doesn’t know how to deal with an overdose. He doesn’t know how to deal with any of this, but certainly not that.
He tried to think positively. It wasn’t like Sasha was comatose, or anything. He’d been conscious on the way here. Certainly not lucid, but he’d been awake. Anton had been freaking out to such an extent that he couldn’t remember much about the journey, but he remembered that. He wouldn’t have been able to get Sasha all the way back here, otherwise.
“Damn it, Sasha,” he mutters. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Anton didn’t know what to do. He had been so hellbent on finding Sasha that he’d never stopped to consider what to do once he succeeded. Sasha needed real help, help Anton didn’t know how to provide. What was he meant to do about the drugs and the… other thing?
That cursed letter still weighed heavily in his pocket. But that was… irrelevant. The least of their problems. Anton needed to get Sasha stable, and healthy. They could figure out the rest at a later date.
It was all just a lot easier said than done.
Anton debated calling Alina. He decided against it. He didn’t want anyone to see Sasha like this. He looked so frail. Skinny, deathly skinny, skeletal, really. He had always been pale, but not he was sickly so. Broken. He looked broken. Tosha didn’t want anyone to see Sasha in such a state.
So Anton stood there, watching his best friend sleep -could it even be called that?- like a creep. It was like he was waiting for a break in character. Like after everything, he was still waiting for Sasha to pop up and declare that all of it had been fabricated.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there before his mother came in. He’d ceased to know the difference between minutes and hours. It could have been seconds. It could have been a century. Time didn’t seem to matter anymore. Only Sashenka.
“I wish you’d tell me when Sasha was coming over,” Anna says, frowning. Anton jumps, even though she hadn’t snuck up on him. “Actually, he hasn’t been around recently, has he? Did you two fight?”
Anton doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to face her. He’s scared that if he looks way from Sasha, he won’t be there when he turns back.
“Hey,” Anna says. “Tosha, are you okay?”
That is when he loses it.
When his composure finally cracks. He is a scared child, and he needs his mother. She’ll help. She always knows what to do.
Anton cannot take it anymore. The dam finally ruptures. He bursts into tears. His mother takes him into her arms, suddenly he is five years old, wailing over a scraped knee; he is eleven years old, weeping over his first failed test; he is seventeen years old, sobbing out of fear that he is going to lose his best friend forever.
God damn it, he’s scared. Terrified. He’s been terrified for weeks, and he hasn’t had an outlet. He’s done everything he can, and it still might not be enough. How is he meant to keep composed when everything is going to shit?
In the next ten minutes, everything comes out. Anton tells her nearly every detail. He explains what he’s done, and what he’s learned, and what he’s simply taken for the truth. He lays out his fears, his concerns, and his blatant demand that they never send Sasha back to that house.
“I mean, you don’t get it, rotten potatoes-!”
“Tosha,” Anna says, gently cutting him off. She’s never this gentle. “That is not the biggest issue here.”
Anton frowns pointedly. “I… know that nothing about the drug problem is ideal, but you can’t make him leave! You can’t send him back there!”
“As concerned as I am about the drugs and theft and possible stalker,” says Anna, “that’s not what I was referring to.” Her brow furrows as she stares at Sasha. “Are you sure he’s even alive?”
Anton’s heart drops. That question alone paved the way for a whole series of possibilities he had not allowed himself to prepare for. Sasha… well, sure, he absolutely was not in a good way, but he wasn’t at Death’s door. Was he?
No. Sasha couldn’t die. Anton still needed him. He would always need him. As unfair as the world was, it wouldn’t be this cruel. It wouldn’t give him Sasha back and then rip him away again before Anton could even say a word to him.
“He’s gotta be,” Anton says firmly.
Normally, his mother would send him to bed without dinner for taking such a tone with her. Now, she smiles sadly and breaks away, kneeling down beside Sasha and checking his pulse. She gives Anton a reassuring nod. He’s still alive, then. Thank god.
“You really ought to get him to the hospital. When your father gets-”
Anton shakes his head. “They’ll just give him back to his aunt, and then he’ll run away again, and maybe this time I won’t be able to find him, and-”
“Alright, fine,” says Anna. “But if he’s still like this by tonight..”
“I know.” He did. “It’s not like I want to deprive him of life saving treatment. I just…”
His mother nods sympathetically. She doesn’t say another word. She shows Anton how to check for Sasha’s pulse on his own, and then she leaves to start on dinner.
Anton sits at Sasha’s side, little more than a ball of nervous energy. His fingers don’t leave the underside of Sasha’s wrist for even a second. If he lets go, he might miss the moment it begins to weaken. Now that his mother has planted the thought of Sasha dying in his mind, Anton cannot get it to leave. He can’t lose him. He won’t.
“You’d better not die,” Anton mutters. “I still have so many things to yell at you for. And I mean… we have a lot to talk about.” He sighs. “You promised me, idiot.”
He didn’t care about that anymore, not really. All that mattered was keeping Sasha safe, and helping him recover. It wasn’t going to be easy, he’d need Anton’s help, and Tosha was more than willing to provide it.
Besides, he was beginning to realize that he didn’t mind how Sasha felt. He wasn’t quite ready to touch on that yet. There were things about himself that he wasn’t yet ready to discover.
…Moving on.
“You’ve got a lot to tell me,” Anton continues. “No pressure. I know you’re going through a lot.”
Sasha didn’t answer. Anton had been a fool for hoping that he would. That kind of shit only happened in fairytales. It’s not like a true love’s kiss is going to magically wake him up. Anton was almost willing to test that theory, anyway. Almost.
But Anton stayed by his side, tensing every time he struggled to find the other boy’s pulse. He didn’t want to lose sight of him; if he did, then maybe Sasha wasn’t really there, and maybe Anton didn’t even actually save him at all.
Sasha looked pained, even at rest. If you could even call it that. His brow was furrowed; dried tears crusted on his cheeks; his hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically at his sides. He could not find any peace, not even while he was unconscious. Anton will have to find a way to help him with that. Sashenka deserved the world.
“Are you still up?” asks Anna, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Tosha, dear, it’s so late. You should get some rest. Sasha will still be here in the morning.”
Anton doesn’t turn around. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’m your mother. I know everything.” Anna offers him a small smile. “I’ll look after him, Tosha. You go get some sleep.”
“No,” says Anton. “I can’t. He’s been gone for so long. I don’t want to leave him ever again.” He pauses. “He’s so… weak. What if he dies while I’m gone? I’d never get to say goodbye.”
Anna hesitates, and then she wraps her arms around him. “Oh, my Tosha. You stay for the night, then, if that’s what you’d like. Take care of him, but take care of yourself, too.”
~
Alina came by the next day. Anton refused to let her see Sasha -he didn’t want anyone to see Sasha like this- but she had plenty of reassurances to offer. This was something Anton needed desperately.
“He’s going to die,” Anton wails.
“No, he’s not,” says Alina. “He couldn’t have been out in the cold for very long.”
“It’s Winter!”
“Tosha, you-”
“I need him,” says Anton. “I need Sasha.”
Alina sat down beside him at the kitchen table. It’s cold, even in the house. Oh, Sasha, poor Sashenka. He’s going to die. He’s doing to die, and it’s all Anton’s fault.
“You love him,” Alina realizes. “Yeah?”
“No.” But… “Yes?” he sighed. “I don’t know.”
“I know,” says Alina, “you love him.”
“It’s wrong,” Anton says. “My parents will kill me.”
Alina reaches out, resting one of her hands on top of Anton’s. It’s comforting, more so than it probably should be. Anton is appreciative regardless. He needs all the comfort he can get, at a time like this.
“It’s not wrong,” Alina promises. “It’s love. Love’s not wrong.”
Anton frowns. “I’m not a faggot.”
“I know.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“But…” his voice trails off.
“But?”
Anton sighs, slumping back in his chair. “I’m a faggot.”
“No,” says Alina. “Don’t say it like that.”
“I don’t know,” Anton admits, running a hand through his hair. “My parents…”
Alina frowns. “You love him. And it’s okay.”
That note was still in his pocket. That stupid, stupid note. Why would he keep it, if he didn’t feel the same? Alina had to be right. Alina was always right.
“I love him.”
The confession feels like a declaration of impending doom, yet it’s weightless all the same. It will get messy when -if- Sasha wakes up. But that is a problem for future Anton. Present Anton has been through more than enough.