[feeling a little writing-rusty atm, but this one is surprisingly sweet with a happy ending. 1.4k]
Boris wasn’t a moody person. To Theo, being moody meant unpredictability, and Boris’s mood swings were very predictable—and could be spotted within just a single word into a conversation. Theo considered it one of his few gifts—and a byproduct of living with Boris for most of his teenage and adult life.
Thursday night dinner wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, even by their standards. Theo had finished work later than he’d intended and walked up to the restaurant in a hurried mess, finding Boris smoking outside by a newsstand. He was flipped through a paper far too quickly to be reading any of the articles. Theo thought it was just to keep up the appearance Boris intended to buy the paper, but as Theo approached him—getting a single-word greeting in return—it was clear Boris didn’t have the ability to focus on any of the thin rows of words. Theo wasn’t sure what caused the mood, but he could at least understand Boris was in the middle of digging himself into one. And he knew the precautions to take.
“Do you know what you want?” Theo asked, peeking over his glasses but still angling his head down toward the menu. “I figure you’re hungry—I kept you waiting.”
“Oh, Potter, do not worry. Waiting is fine! You called, told me you were on your way. Was not a mystery.” Boris said. He was still staring at the wine portion of the menu. Theo hadn’t seen him blink yet.
“Boris?” Theo lowered his voice and his menu. He leaned forward and pressed his ribs against the edge of the table. “Hey.”
Boris looked up at Theo, his expression a poor attempt at neutral. His jaw was clenched, trying so hard to stop his bottom lip from quivering that his eyes were tense and wide. His pupils were usually small in the dim restaurant lighting, but that night they were dilated nearly to the rim of his irises.
“Boris, are you high right now?” Theo never regarded drug-induced paranoia to be a form of moodiness.
“No. Am not.” Boris said sharply.
Theo was shocked to hear that he wasn’t lying. Usually his voice pitched up, tensing as Boris tried to wring every bit of truth out of it—as if it could be amplified and cover the blatant falsehood he was telling Theo. Except that his voice was even, low, and staccato.
“Then what’s going on.” Theo saw their waiter redirect themselves away from their table as he saw Theo’s expression sour. They didn’t even need to hear his tone.
“Am just thinking. Tell me about your day instead. Were late for reason. Something wrong with shop?” Boris waved at Theo’s frustration flippantly and fixed his eyes on him again. For a moment, the panic in his eyes eased and he cracked the tiniest piece out of his façade at let Theo see a fraction of a smile.
“No, nothing’s wrong.” Theo said slowly. “I just lost track of time. I’ve been finding old reports and invoices, but Welty’s handwriting is impossible to read—once I get started I don’t want to lose my place.”
“So, bad day at work.” Boris said, as if calculating something.
“Long and tiring, but not necessarily terrible.” Theo weighed the description for another moment. “Okay, actually, yeah. It was a pretty shit Thursday—Okay what is wrong?” Boris’s entire face had paled, and his eyes dropped to his water glass, darting between the running drops of condensation. “This is not a relaxing dinner right now. Frankly, I’d like to go home.”
“Fuck—no! Potter, am sorry. Is nothing absolutely nothing.” Boris shook his head and ran both hands through his hair. “Gah need to stop. Cannot bother—do not want to bother you. Am borden.”
“Borden?” Theo tried to dial back his sharp outlash. It didn’t seem like Boris was hiding anything, but rather smothering himself in apologies; his words slipping out like gasps for air. “Like… Lizzy Borden? A-Are you thinking of murdering me?” Theo laughed, easing back in his chair. Boris tensed his jaw, refusing the joke and deflection. “Y-You mean burden?”
“Burden. Yes. Do not mean to burden dinner. I—keep talking. Tell me more.”
“No—You are not a burden, Boris.” Theo laughed, absurdity tangling his sincerity before he knew he needed it. “I-I mean it. Y-You can’t be serious. Boris, you look like you’re about to shed your fucking skin or something. You look high. What’s wrong? Just tell me so we can actually eat our dinner and I don’t have to worry about you heaving your food onto the table or me. And that you won’t be a mess if you start drinking wine.”
Boris blinked at Theo, shoulders hanging and back slouched. “Not burden?”
“No. Not at all—look, I didn’t mean to get angry right away. I’m just—just fucking tell me. You can tell me anything. That’s what this is.”
Theo refused to acknowledge, however directly, that Thursday was their routine date night. One that ended with a slow, winding walk back to their apartment—talking through any and all things they wanted while sharing a pack of cigarettes—where they’d dip into their own liquor cabinet and fumble around on the couch, warm and giggling and happy. Friday mornings always started stretched over one another on the living room floor.
In short, it was love. Even shorter, Theo just called it “this”.
“Okay.” He nodded. Boris twisted in his chair and dug into his jacket pocket before slamming something on the tablecloth directly between them. His hand retracted and revealed a dull, silver ring. “Potter marry me. Please?”
“I—Holy shit. What?” Theo had fully swallowed his drink of water but still found the ability to begin choking. “Boris, what the fuck are you doing? What are you—You are high, aren’t you.”
“Potter, listen to me.” Boris had the habit of being boisterous when Theo was panicked and rambling, but he spoke softly; guilt still strangling him. “Am burden because I want different things than you, Potter. But cannot be casual with you—be just a this. Have known too much of you to not say that your life is also mine.”
It was impossible that anyone in the restaurant had heard Boris’s question, let alone could see the ring now resting beside the candle center piece. It was worn and aged, far older than Theo and extending into a world that had existed without either of them. But had been brought to dinner solely to create a life where it would only know Theo and Boris together. The silver wasn’t shined, almost absorbing the light from around it. It was muted. It disappeared. And for a brief moment, Theo felt as if he did too. Tucked away from the publicity of their moment, the exposure of being seen, even in the background of someone else’s dinner. Theo had the entire world to himself—and it finally didn’t feel like a punishment.
“Boris, I—”
“I know you do not want to marry. You keep saying it is not worth it; we have never seen marriage that works or is happy. I know! I know! But who has to say we have to learn from anyone? We can just do on our own. Marry me, Potter, and we figure out how to be happy like we want.” Boris tapped the table near the ring, urging Theo to take it without reaching across the table to his hands. He hadn’t prepared his speech, hadn’t thought about how to get the ring onto Theo and convince him. The spontaneity felt like a glimpse into the rest of Theo’s life with Boris.
Boris was always radical and frantic and quick-acting. But this wasn’t reckless, it was caring. It was a choice that was being slapped together verbally, but had been gently formulated with Boris’s hands, his heart, and his entire life. Theo had no idea their fucked up, death-sentence upbringings had the capability to alter into something so… safe. So able to slow down and rest. To settle and find home again.
“Theo, please say something.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Boris said. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll do it.” Theo didn’t think he was able to reach for the ring. Instead, he looked up at Boris, keeping his expression as static as possible. He felt a strange urge to either start crying or vomiting. “I want to—I want what you want.”
“Will marry me.” Boris was far too incredulous for it to be entirely flattering: after all his sappy poetics, he still didn’t think Theo would agree.
“Yes! Do I have to fucking say it again.” Theo laughed, his own tension melting from his shoulders as he leaned forward again. “I told you: not a burden. You can tell me anything—I am with you. For everything.”
