part 2 to "enough is enough" but can be read as a stand alone
idea from @sunasgrxce
Boris laid still in his bed, too tired to move even the slightest. He had lost himself, more than he already had, in drugs and alcohol. He missed the love of his love. The one person that made him feel worth something.
"Boris, you cannot just lay there forever." Theo sighed as he picked up garbage that was scattered throughout the room. "Why did they not just tell me it bothered them." Boris groaned and shoved his face into a pillow.
"You're not exactly the easiest to talk to, you know." Boris groaned again, knowing Theo was right. "I just want them here with me." He mumbled as he grabbed a pillow and cuddled it as he would cuddle you.
"I don't understand why you don't call them? It's been months!" "Because!" Boris exaggerated as if that was a good reason. He let go of the pillow and sprawled across his back.
The doorbell startled them both, seeing as no one ever visited him besides Theo and his dad would just use his keys. "Who's that?" Theo asked concerned. Boris shook his head, indicating he didn't know who it was.
Theo placed the garbage back on the floor and made his way toward the door. He only opened the door halfway, cautiously, only to be met with you. "Hi, Theo." You smiled as he opened the door fully. "Hi." He smiled back. "Is Boris in?" You asked to which Theo nodded pointing to Boris' room.
You smiled gratefully at Theo, and walked to Boris' room, knocking lightly before walking in. Boris stared at you, thinking the drugs he had taken earlier were just now kicking in. "Hi." You whispered, though he still stayed silent. You awkwardly shuffle to his bed and sit next to his sprawled out body.
"I was going to call but I figured I should see you in person." You laughed as you put your hand in his hair. "Y/N." He whispered, just now realizing you were in fact real. "Boris." You whispered back.
He quickly sat up on the bed and consumed you in a hug. "Мій прекрасний ангел." He said quietly into your ear as he stroked your hair. "I missed you very much, Y/N." He continued, not daring to let go of you. "I missed you too." You smiled as you inhaled his scent that felt weirdly like home.
"Please... do not leave me again." His voice started to shake. "I won't." You promised as you choked on a sob. "I won't." You repeated pulling him closer to you than before. Boris repeatedly pressed small, loving kisses to your temple.
"I love you." He whispered, still afraid to let go. "Ти досконалий." You smiled though you didn't know what it meant, but you didn't care. You couldn't care. Not when you were in the arms of the one person you loved the most.
College-age Theo and Boris that follows this fic [AU where Boris follows Theo to New York (and has braces)]. Theo invites Boris over to his dorm, and to stay the night. Apropos hilarity ensues-- as well as some romantic realizations. (ao3)
For his senior year, Theo had no idea why he wanted to live in one of the off-campus college dorms. He didn’t know why he thought moving out of Hobie’s house to stay-- however briefly-- in a stuffy, cramped, reused two-person bedroom was a good idea. Then, of course, his roommate gave him free booze as a welcome gift and Theo trusted his own mind a bit more.
Theo and his roommate, Jon, got along well. Much in the same way neighbors that never spoke to each other did. There was no reason to dislike him; he stayed out of Theo’s way (and his things), and didn’t ask much about his life. He heard Theo hurriedly turn toward the door to answer a phone call-- answering the boisterous, loving man on the other end-- and didn’t pry by asking the most haunting question Theo got more and more since moving away from the shop: Oh, was that your boyfriend?
Technically, it wasn’t. Boris hated the word, and the term made Theo’s blood curdle. He’d rather call Boris a pet name than the infantile boyfriend. Boris was his best friend and that was enough. Saying they were best friends explained their intertwined lives and hearts well enough. Boyfriend was too common, too overused. Too understood-- or misunderstood-- by the public; someone would hear it and think they understood how he and Boris worked. No one but them did, and Theo prided himself on that. He didn’t have to say that he loved Boris when he hung up the phone, it was implied, of course. Although, maybe it could be heard in Theo’s voice-- prompting said awful question. Regardless, best friends was the term they grew up with-- and grew into as their time in Vegas faded to just a nostalgic wave; a shiver in the sweltering city heat or jolt of energy while under the starless, dark abyss of sky.
It was Wednesday night before an easy Thursday of one afternoon class. Boris had come over after helping Hobie clean up dinner. Theo was glad Boris was getting the family life he found commonplace before his mother died. He never told Boris this, of course, instead just being only slightly impatient when Boris said he had chores to finish before he could come over. Theo was a short cab ride away at any time, but Boris always chose to walk. He said he liked the anticipation.
Boris stood outside Theo’s door, picking at his a braces bracket on his front tooth. He smiled around his finger, nearly snarling as he bared his teeth accidentally. He had a new coat on: thick, heavy, and black, hanging down to his thighs. He didn’t have a scarf, but rather a wrinkled collared shirt over one of Theo’s stolen turtlenecks.
It was strange: with the collared shirt tucked in and unbuttoned down to mid-chest, exposing the soft black cotton, Boris was handsome. Well, that wasn’t what was strange. It was rather: now that Theo had moved to a dorm-- and effectively was whatever kind of stranger he wanted to be-- he felt more adult. More of a man and less of the orphan who’d lost his mother and nearly his own life. He felt more personhood than ever before. And this Theo, this man, felt easily noticed when his best friend was handsome. When said friend had obviously dressed for an occasion.
“Sorry I come late-- was talking with Hobie.” Boris clapped Theo’s arm as he was pulled into the room. “Where is Jon?” Boris loved pestering him until he agreed to join their drunken conversations about black-and-white films, as well as, conversely, the color theory within movies in the era of technicolor.
Theo could’ve very easily answered Boris, but instead he could only remember Jon’s last parting sentence: I won’t be home tonight.
And instead, Theo asked what he had been planning all semester, waiting for the right moment: “Do you want to stay over?”
“Huh?” Boris’s lip quirked as he made a loud, barely linguistic noise. “Stay?”
“Yeah. Stay over.”
“Where will I--” Boris was asking the question to be nice. To let Theo understand his own anxieties and hesitations one more time. Boris never had any qualms about sharing-- invading-- personal space; he was hopeful but careful.
“In my bed.” Theo spoke over his second chance, nodding his head. This Theo was comfortable enough to sleep in the same bed with Boris without any illegal aids. He didn’t need to be boozed up or zooted blind to hold Boris close in the trembling heat of love.
No, Theo wanted to kiss his best friend in the sober light of night, tucked against the window, and curled around each other on his cheap, plastic mattress.
“In bed. With you?”
“Yes, Boris. With me. Share a bed with me.”
“Have not done that since we were boys.” Boris said, laughing. He held his hand above the ground showing their heights. They were never that small when they were in Vegas, but it was hard not to think of themselves as such smaller, more broken versions of what they grew into. Theo was so shrunken inside his shell he felt three feet tall, despite slowly shooting upward over Boris’s height. “You must remember sharing beds when we were in father’s house.”
“Of course I do.” Theo swallowed thickly. They’d fooled around when they were teenagers, sharing a bed because they were too tired-- too dehydrated and famished-- afterward to climb out of bed, find their clothes, and rest in separate rooms, let alone houses.
“So, want me to stay.” Boris repeated. “Okay. I stay with you tonight. But I have not brought anything.”
“That’s okay, you can share my stuff.” They couldn’t have fallen that much out of practice; what was Theo’s already came with Boris’s possession. There was no discussion or question, it was all his-- just as Theo was.
Theo stared at Boris as he took off his coat, throwing it over the back of his desk chair. He was barely righted again, looking at Theo fretting his lip between his teeth, when Theo darted forward. It was a flurry of a moment. Theo grabbed the front of Boris’s shirt and yanked him closer. Boris’s hand was already half pressed against Theo’s stomach, sliding down the front of his pants. Theo sighed, long and almost forceful, as Boris began nudging his face with his own-- trying to get it out of the way. Boris’s mouth should not have been as familiar with Theo’s neck as it was, but literally who was Theo to complain. Boris sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled Theo onto him. Theo was going to ignore every impulse-- well, every other impulse-- and only pull Boris closer and tighter and--
“Whoever is knocking should go now.” Boris panted, his words hot on Theo’s skin. Theo barely heard anything but Boris’s words, catching the faint echo of firm knocking.
“They’ll go away.” Theo said, placing his hand on the back of Boris’s head and pulling him in again.
Theo was hoping they did, because whoever was on the other side of the door better not have known any Russian. As it was, Theo was only understanding a third of what Boris was saying and it was... not meant for another set of ears.
But. Again. A knock.
“WHAT!” Theo shouted, turning away from Boris so quickly he almost fell off the bed. Boris pulled his hand out of Theo’s pants in order to reach up and grab his side, keeping him from tumbling out of bed.
“Theo? It’s George.” He paused. “From down the hall.”
“Mister Fyodor is very busy right now come back later.” Boris said before Theo could cover his mouth.
“Shut up.”
“What? He is trying to ask you for something. Can tell by his voice. Only person asking for things should be me--”
“Yeah, but he’s going to know that--” Know what? Theo was getting laid? Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“Theo? Are you in there?”
“YEAH!” Theo called back, adjusting his glasses as if they’d begin fogging from his flushed cheeks. “Little busy, Steve.”
“George.” Boris said.
“George.” Theo corrected, wiping his brow. “Leave, uh, leave a note or something. I’m busy.”
“Are going to know you are with someone.” Boris laughed, hitching his elbows in the bottom hem of both his shirts.
“Yeah.” Theo mulled the thought over with a furrowed brow, chewing his bottom lip. “There are other guys on the floor with--”
With what? Boyfriends? Lovers? Other men that came over for hasty evenings tucked under old, ripped bedsheets?
“Best friends.”
“Yeah?” Boris said, still wiggling out of his shirt. “Like you and me?”
“Well,” Theo hated the implication. “No. They’re gay.”
“Ah, okay. Not like us.” It was the common understanding that neither Boris nor Theo were gay; they didn’t look at other men. But also, coincidently, didn’t look at women either. That never came up though. It was necessary to clarify their point; they were committed to the other in the most deep and embarrassing way. A way neither could see or say.
“Theo? I just need a favor. I heard you’re in English 230.”
“Better help him. He sounds very nervous.” Boris laughed, nudging Theo off the bed. “Go, I will still be here when you get back.”
“No, Boris-- I don’t want to.” Theo sighed. He tried to fight Boris, but found himself on his feet and turned around to the door against his will. Boris slapped his back and laughed again. “Ugh, fine.”
Theo fixed his shirt and rebuttoned his pants as he went back to his door. He flipped the light off, the large windows lining the back wall letting in the yellow light of the streetlamps and the white glow of the moon. He hoped to look as if he’d slept in his clothes-- a sight so pathetic he deserved to be left alone.
“What do you want, George?”
“I heard you’re in 230-- with Henderson?” He said, holding his notebook up in front of his chest with a white-knuckle grip.
“Yes, I am,” he said. “What about it?”
“I need your notes for that Barthes reading. I am so lost-- and I didn’t get everything from the lecture.” George said. “And I know you keep really good notes.”
“How do you know that?” Theo spoke to no one in that class, only the professor because, as much as he hated putting in effort, he wanted to get a good grade again. Wanted to make Hobie proud, maybe show off a little to Boris. Maybe.
“I-I sit next to you.” He said.
“Oh.”
“I wouldn’t come to you if it wasn’t an emergency. I still haven’t written my essay for the midterm yet.”
“Sounds like a problem.” Theo said with a sigh. “Write about something else other than Barthes. We’ve read like, ten different things.”
“Yeah, but from what I remember that reading is perfect for my argument. I just can’t remember the last ten minutes of class. And my notes are useless.”
“Listen, George,”
“Potter...” Boris whispered, sensing his frustration clearly from the bed. Fucking best friend intuition--
“Look, I’ll give you the notes. Just get that back to me by morning, okay?” Theo stepped back, going for his stack of books on his desk.
“Oh, I can just take a picture of the notes--” he said, stepped after Theo.
“George, wait.” Theo had little defense once George was in his room fully. Boris was stretched out on the bed, arms behind his head, and shirtless with the clothes on the floor. It was a pretty easy picture to paint, dots to connect, body language to read-- however you wanted to phrase it: it was very clear Theo was sleeping with Boris, or planned to be very soon. Suddenly, Theo was aware of how ruffled he looked on second glance.
“Oh.” George said. “I interrupted something. I can see that now.” He gripped his notebook against his chest and attempted to step away.
“Well, you’ve stopped us now, so why don’t you get your notes so you can go and write your paper.” Theo snapped, flipping open his own notebook and finding the correct page. George fumbled with his phone before quickly holding it over the page and clicking a picture. “There. Need anything else?”
“N-No. I’m so sorry,” George said. “I thought you were just drinking in here or something. I didn’t know you were-- and that you’re-- I’m so sorry.”
“Get out, George.”
“Okay! Yeah!” He said, bolting out of the room. Theo eased the door closed behind him and sighed, long and heavy.
“Well, that killed my mood.”
“Aw, Potter, come on! Why? Because someone sees us? Sees me?” Boris jokingly ran his hands down his torso. “No need to be jealous. Will not go for him.”
“I’m not jealous, Boris.” Theo laughed weakly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want the whole floor thinking I’m-- that we’re-- ya know. We’re just best friends, okay?”
“Yes, I know.” Boris sat up. He pulled on Theo’s arm and brought him along the edge of the bed, closer to him. He turned his head to pull him into a kiss. “I know are best friends. Only that exist in the world.”
“Boyfriend is so stupid.” Theo continued between gasps for air, cupping Boris’s face. “That’s so stupid. I don’t want the floor thinking I’m the guy with the boyfriend.”
“Are not!” Boris agreed with a hasty nod. He rested his forehead on Theo’s shoulder as he tried to unbutton Theo’s shirt. “Not man with boyfriend. Are man with me.”
“And that’s so much better.” Theo muttered, pulling Boris’s head up by his chin to kiss him again. “Only thing I want.”
“Only thing?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Just want to check! Because cannot do very much if being with me is only thing you want. Need to widen words. Want to be join me?”
“Well, I’m not going to let you do everything yourself. What kind of friend would I be then?”
--
The next morning, Theo and Boris woke up like they always had in Vegas: back to back and reaching for the edge of the bed. Theo gripped the plastic seam of his bed tightly, the material squeaking as he released it and pushed himself up. Boris was still asleep. Theo wanted to let him sleep, but they had to get up.
“Boris.” Theo said, pushing hair back from his eyes. He did the same with Boris. “Boris, you have to get up.”
“Ack, too early. The sun.”
"We have to get ready before Jon comes back.” Theo said, nudging him. Boris groaned and pulled Theo’s arm over his eyes like an eye mask. “Come on, we have to. Have to get up before the cafeteria changes from breakfast.”
Boris moved Theo’s arm, opening his eyes. “I could eat.”
“Yeah, I know you could. So predictable.” Theo said. He slid out of bed and went to his dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans and sweater for Boris to wear; his clothes would be too wrinkled to wear again. That, and no one was well dressed at breakfast unless you were wearing your clothes from the night before. It was all about disguise.
Boris dressed quickly while Theo did the same. As Theo was tying up his shoes, there was the drag of a key in the door lock. Jon came in the door with his backpack, three heavy textbooks in his arms, and a heavy scarf tucked around his neck. A night in the library.
“Hey, Boris.” He said, dropping his books on his desk and starting on his scarf.
“Hello, Jon.” Boris waved, leaning away from the edge of the bed.
“Did you stay over?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that okay?” Theo asked.
“Oh, yeah. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen Boris in the daytime so...” Jon ended the comment with a shrug. “Nice to see you, man.”
“Nice to see you too, yes.” Boris grinned. He didn’t seem to feel the tension in the room. The thick, suffocating knowledge that Boris’s clothes were still on the ground, the bed was not just unmade but messy, and that Theo and Boris were stuck in each other’s orbit. Hovering near one another even as they spoke to Jon. They weren’t being careful or hidden or secretive or even shy. They were just out in the open-- well, the open of Theo and Jon’s room.
He probably thought Theo was gay-- that Boris was his boyfriend; his fragile little plaything that Theo would blow off for basement parties or “to go study”. Theo had straightened Jon out though: he’d told him Boris wasn’t his boyfriend. And he believed him-- not that there was anything to believe. It was the truth. You don’t believe the truth, you accept it. Jon accepted what Theo told him. Because they aren’t boyfriends, they’re just best friends.
Or maybe. There was no just. There was no diminishing, no turning down, what Theo and Boris had. It was strong and bright and obnoxious and undeniable. It could be accepted, but it couldn’t be talked away.
“I was up all night writing papers and studying so I’m going to get some sleep if that’s okay.” Jon said, pulling his blankets back.
“Yeah, sure. W-We were just leaving.” Theo, just trying to leave, accidentally took Boris’s hand and pulled him out of the room and into the hall.
Already he could hear the smirks and remarks: just your best friend... all right. sure.
Why couldn’t anyone understand? They weren’t to be known, to be consumed. They were just two people that were together, in a way neither really understood but couldn’t survive without. It was an unhealthy sort of centering, but Theo didn’t care. Being held by Boris was an experience only he knew-- no one else on Earth had ever been held by him the same way. And that was reason enough to not be boyfriends. How could Theo use a word already created to describe what he felt experiencing a solely unique experience, unique feeling? Boyfriends was too plain, too unoriginal. Best friends was lax enough, left some room for growth-- for maybe a new label to emerge, down the line. Or the aisle.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There’s no harm in keeping the app and having a little fun, Theo tells himself. He’s allowed to talk to people, and it was Kitsey who set it all up anyway, so it can’t be that big of a deal, especially since he’s not using it to cheat on her or anything. It will all be fine, Theo is sure. It’s not like anyone will find out or anything will come of it. or: the tinder au no one asked for
I accidentally wrote another chapter of this one. There will probably be a third chapter also. Never intended this to be a multi chapter fic, but after reading every single Boreo fic on Archive of Our Own that was in English I wasn’t done. I needed more, so I wrote more.
“Andy needs a night out at the club to find himself a man where Theo accidentally meets a mysterious man that catches his eye. Boris is handsome and charming but Theo never thought he was gay and there's something strange about this mysterious man that he can't quite put his finger on. This is a song fic based on the song Our Mutual Friend by The Divine Comedy. “
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/2
Fandom: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (2019)
Corrina, Corrina : Part Two, Chapter One
Blisters have begun to form on my hand from gripping the bag's strap too tightly. The sign is in gold, just four steps in front of me. The hard part should be over- leaving my father, taking the bus, finding my way here- but the stairs leading to the golden letters seem impossible to climb. The concrete below my feet has a magnetic pull, dragging me down into the earth.
What is he doing in there, so close I feel I’m breathing again into his neck? He could be having a nice night with the old man, one I will undoubtedly ruin. Or perhaps he’s miserable, and the sight of me will set him over the edge. I still see the most likely outcome being the painting promptly ripped out of my hands and a door slamming in my face. I gnaw at my thumbnail, my leg trembling and wanting to bounce up and down in my shoe. Just go in. Just go in.
Quickly, so I don’t have time to stop myself, I rush up the steps and start rapping at the door.
