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While Boris sleeps off the exhaustion in his bedroom, Theo decides to bring the dog around. Popper always seems to brighten his mood, and right now, it felt like the other needed it.
Popper yips in Theo’s arms as they climbed up the winding stairs, wriggling to be let free. Once Theo let him go, he ran straight to Boris, tiny thing jumping onto the bed with ease.
Boris moved around in his sleep, bleary eyes opening to find Popper licking his cheek. “Potter – “ he rasps, a hand entangled in soft white fur, “ You’re back.”
Theo, leaned against the doorframe, raised a brow. “Told you I would be.” He wasn't going to be, actually. But the thought of Boris, alone in his fathers house, made Theo a little sick. A little afraid.
“Does it hurt to come close?”
“What – No ?”
Boris sat up, Popper now at his heels now, playing around with the loose thread in his blankets, “Then why are you all the way over there?”
Theo chuckles, “Asshole,” moving to sit on the bed instead.
“So, doctor Theo,” Boris raises his arms, gesturing to himself with a flourish, “Am I healed now?”
T-eo.
“Not just yet. You still need to keep icing that,” Theo motions at his ribs, “And you can’t really take anything.”
“You are,” Boris crosses his arms behind his head, leaning against the headboard, “No fun, Doctor Potter. No fun at all.”
Theo rolls his eyes, shifting to get comfortable, and ends up shoulder-to-shoulder to Boris. The close proximity wasn't unforeseen, they’d always been touchy, whether high or not, but he looks at Boris only to find him already staring back, bottom lip twitching like he has something to say but cant.
“What?” Theo asks finally.
“I did not say anything.” Boris says, turning his gaze toward the ceiling instead.
“I can see it on your face,” Theo repeats Boris’ words from a few hours ago back to him, “What is it?”
Boris sighs, repositions himself to lie on his side, wincing, “You are not bad person, Potter.”
Theo stares back, stunned. “ I – know?” The words are unexpected, the touch ever more so, pale bony fingers wrap around Tho’s hand, pulling it away from where he’s been picking at his cuticle with his thumb for a while.
“You do not. But you are a good friend to me, Potter.” Boris admits.
Silence lingers for a beat or two after that revelation; then, “Are you hungry?”
Boris shakes his head, flops down lower on the bed, and drags Theo with him. “No. Are you?”
Just almost, Theo can't respond, too focused on the feeling of the cold touch of Boris, one arm thrown across Theo and the other bent, crossed under his own chin. “No.” Theo hoarsely whispers, and makes a decision. He shuffles forward, straightening Boris’ arm and rests his head on it, settling into the crook of neck and shoulder. “No, not really.” he repeats.
They fall asleep like that again, in each other's arms. Or Boris does. Theo spends a lot of time staring up at the other boy.
Looking at Boris, Theo was reminded a lot of his time with the Barbours, in a sort of backwards way. Boris was a bit like a painting he used to stare at. Paintings were fascinating, the emotion of the artist embedded in every brush stroke. Like a puzzle designated for only one person. Theo is not a painter. But he thinks Boris is his puzzle.
The sharp arc of his jaw, the curve of his lip, the way his eyelashes made tiny pinprick-like shadows on his pale skin. Theo almost wants to reach out, and touch. Despite being cold to the touch, he thinks Boris is searing heat. Something untouchable; forbidden, something supposed to be orbited.
“ Rude to stare, Potter.” Boris mutters sleepily, pulling him close. “What, do I look pretty all beat up?”
Theo’s words die in his throat, what comes out instead is; “You always do.”
A heartbeat passes, then two. Boris turns on his side to look at Theo better, mouth downturned in a frown. “Theo,” he says, sounding out the syllables. “Did you get high?”
Theo chokes out a laugh, breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding in. “You fuck-er,” He says, voice cracking. In the background, he hears Boris say, “Without me?” Offense coming through clear in his tone.
“No, Boris.” Theo sits up, stretching his arms above his head, “I did not get high without you.” Or at least he thinks he didn’t. They’re used to the days blending together. Boris hands him something; Theo tips his head back and swallows. It’s just what they do.
Boris doesn't take that for an answer, tugs Theo back down, amused lilt to his voice. “Why are you saying shit like this then?”
“I don’t – “ Theo stutters, once, twice, “I don't know.”
Boris considers this, looks over at Theo, somewhat knowing. “What do you know?”
“I dont – “ know, he’s about to say again, but realises he’s just repeating himself. Theo decides to just shut up. Boris sees the shift in emotion, and his face changes, closing off. Theo gets the sense that he’s said; done something wrong, and in a hurry, he blurts out; “I just meant that–” Theo looks him over; a searching glance, what a desperate picture he makes, he’s sure. “You – don't look bad Boris. Ever.”
“Whatever, Potter.” Boris curls an arm around him again, casualness forced in his tone. Theo can hear it. He doesn’t bother calling Boris out on it. “Get up. I want to watch something.”