why did it have to be me? - boreo

i hate you! (not really)

  
     I woke up tangled in his arms, our knees almost hitting each other's. I stared at him, he always looked so peaceful when he was asleep. I smiled and tried to move closer, but I must have shifted around too much because I saw his eyes flutter open.
     "Potter? Go back to sleep, too early for you to be awake." he mumbled, his voice deep and raspy. He always sounded like that in the morning and it made my stomach twist, but in a good way.
     "It's not too early, I'm up at a perfectly good time." I protested. It was eight in the morning, which was actually early for us.
     "It is, go back to sleep. You are sick, you can't be up right now." he said, pulling me closer. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to do.
     "It's eight in the morning, and I'm not sick!" I said, reaching up and flicking his ear.
     "Shush." he muttered, slowly taking his hand and starting to ghost-rub along my spine(i hope that makes sense 😭). I was going to strangle him. He knew what he was doing, and he knew it would work.
     "Stop trying to get me to go to sleep." I mumbled, my eyes getting heavier against my will. I tried to keep them open, just long enough to punch him in the face, but I didn't.

I woke up way later, maybe around noon? Boris was still next to me, but he wasn't asleep. He was reading the book he had read last night.
"Morning, bookworm," I teased, sitting up a bit and trying to read the page he was on. "Is it good so far?"
He nodded. "I want to make sure there isn't anything too sad. You always cry when there's something sad in a book."
"Not true!" I laughed. "I do not always cry! That's bullshit."
"Remember when the guy in the book before this was thinking about his wife? She wasn't even dead, Potter, he was just being nice!"
"It was sweet! And he was talking about her like how I want to be talked about! I was sad because I wanted to be the wife to someone!"
"You are the wife to someone," he smiled, leaning in closer to me. "And if there was a book on what went on in their head, you would find that it is filled with thoughts about the 'wife'."
     I did the same, my body being drawn to his like a magnet. "And who is that someone?" I asked. I wanted it to be him.
     "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked, the smile turning into a smirk. He pulled away and went back to reading my book.
     "I would like to know! Yes, I would!" I said, punching his arm.
     "You should know who it is, Potter," he said, punching me back. "The fact that you don't is scary."
     "Can't you just tell me?" I asked, lying my head on his shoulder. I wanted him to tell me that he loved me, and that he meant it, and that he wouldn't leave me. I wanted him to grab my hand and kiss me, lacing our fingers together better than a seamstress ever could. I wanted his touch, to feel his cold hands on me. I just wanted us to be each other's, we were like two pieces of the same puzzle. I just don't understand why we can't be put together to make it complete.
     "No, I can't. Are you going to keep interrupting me?" he asked, flipping the page.
     "I guess not," I mumbled. "I'm going to grab something. Do you want anything?"
     "Potter, you know I have to go with you," he said, standing up. "Plus, how do I know you won't get alcohol?"
     "I won't get alcohol!" I complained. I went to stand up, too, my legs weak. "I can go downstairs by myself."
     "No," he said simply, waiting by the door. "C'mon, move."
     "I'm coming, dickhead," I mumbled, walking slowly to him. My legs felt like they were going to give out any second. "Hold on, my legs feel weird."
     He sighed and walked over to me, scooping me up and carrying me downstairs.
     "Boris, put me down! I can walk! I can!" I complained, trying to get down.
     "Sh, Potter. Just shush." he said, rolling his eyes. He sat me down on the couch and patted my head. He walked to the fridge and got a beer and an apple juice, taking the straw off the container and put it in the box, walking back over and handing it to me. "Drink it."
     "Fine," I mumbled, doing what he said. I sent him glares every so often as he sipped on his beer, sitting next to me. He pulled me closer to him, throwing his empty beer bottle on the floor and putting his head on top of mine. "You okay?"
     "I'm fine, Potter. Are you okay?" he asked, moving a few strands of hair out of my face. I nodded and chucked my empty apple juice away somewhere.
     "I keep telling you, I'm fine. I'm not sick," I muttered. "Why don't you believe me?"
     "You told me you weren't hurt one time when you scraped your side climbing out of the pool," he mused, running a finger up and down where I had cut it. "I believed you, and it got infected. You couldn't breathe without biting on something to stop from screaming or crying, and you refused to tell me that you weren't okay because you 'survived a bombing, it's just a scratch!'. I'm never believing you until a thermometer says you are okay."
     "That's bullshit," I said. "That's stupid. You know it is." I remember the cut, there was still a pink mark there from it scraping off my skin, and I remember what happened, but he still should believe me, in my opinion. And, like I said before, my opinion is always, always right.
     He sighed and turned on the TV, which I hadn't even noticed was off. "It's 1:47, you need your medicine soon." he mumbled into my hair, sending chills down my spine.
     "I don't need medicine," I mumbled back, staring at the TV. Some movie was coming on, Dead Man, to be exact. "I'm fine."
     "When you have to take it, we'll check your temperature, hm?" he said, pulling me closer, if that was even possible at this point.
     I nodded. There was no getting what I wanted with him now. Sometimes, if you asked enough, and in just the right way, he would give in. But there was a certain timeframe, and I passed it a while ago.

     "C'mon, let's go see if you're really sick, or if you're 'okay', like you say you are," he said, sitting up. "Actually..."
     I was about to ask what he meant by that when he picked me up again, carrying me to the bathroom. I didn't even protest this time, it was just a waste of breath at this point. He sat me down on the rim of the bathtub and looked for the thermometer.
     "Found it," he triumphantly smiled, uncapping it and turning it on. He sat down next to me and made me face him. "Open, Potter."
     I shook my head. Who knew where that thing had been? He sighed and rubbed his thumb over my lip before prying my mouth open, putting it under my tongue. I hated the feeling, but then I realized this could prove me right. I waited until it beeped and smiled, waiting for a normal temperature.
     "103.4," he said, showing it to me. He wasn't lying, it was exactly that. There was no way, I didn't feel sick. He stood up and sterilized it before capping it again. "Told you so."
     "It's wrong!" I whined. "It's not right, it's old, and it's wrong, and, and... it's just wrong!"
     "Is right, c'mon, medicine time," he smiled, picking me up and carrying me to the kitchen. I squirmed a bit, trying to get out of his grasp. "Stop moving, you can barely walk!"
     "Shut up!" I protested as he sat me on the counter, grabbing the medicine and the syringe. "Can't I take an Advil? Or a Tylenol?"
     He shook his head. "Painkillers kill pain, not sickness." he said, putting the medicine near my mouth. "C'mon, the quicker you take it the quicker we can go back to normal."
     "I don't wanna go back to normal, though," I said, moving back a little bit. "I don't like normal."
     He frowned a bit and tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
     "I don't want normal, Boris!" I said. "Not if normal is with her. Not if you mean spending every second of the day screwing her through a wall and then arguing with me! That's not normal. I want our old normal."
     The frown deepened. "Potter, I didn't know you felt that way. Are you sure it's not the medicine talking?"
     I stared at him, mouth agape in frustration. He took this as a chance to shove the medicine down my throat and then tilt my head back, making me swallow it. As soon as I did, I went to hop off the counter, almost falling as I did so. I felt weak. I stumbled to the stairs, my knuckles white as I gripped the railing.
     "Potter, please, stop walking," he said, picking me up again. "Just calm down, please. We can talk in a minute."
     "I hate you. I hate you so much." I mumbled, tears stinging my eyes. I knew I didn't mean it. I could never hate him, I couldn't.
     He laid me on the bed gently and climbed in next to me. He pulled me close to him, ignoring my struggles.
     "I hate you, just let go! I hate you, I hate you, I hate..," I repeated, stopping for a second. I didn't mean it. So why was I saying it? "No I don't. I don't hate you, I don't." I felt the tears that were stinging before roll down my face, and I went to wipe them. "I'm sorry, I don't hate you, I didn't mean it."
     "I know, I know, sh, Potter.. sh..," he comforted, rubbing up and down my spine like he did before. "I know you don't. Sleep, please, you need to sleep."
     "I need you, Boris." was all I mumbled before I drifted off to sleep, one thing very clear to me: I didn't hate Boris, I loved him. I loved his alcoholic-cigarette-y scent, I loved his voice, I loved his touch, I loved his eyes, I loved his lips, I loved him. Maybe that wasn't the right phrase, though. I was more in-love with him than I loved him, and I wish that I could say that to him without any fear. But I would never be able to, and maybe I should just be grateful he didn't hate me yet, because that's the one thing I was scared of most.

word count: 1850
a/n: hi!!! i'm so sorry this took so long, i've been bogged up with work for the past week or so, and i had some meetings for my upcoming volleyball season, but i'm rlly glad i was able to get this out!! i also wanted to know if u guys wanted a chapter based on my headcanons bc i have so so so many + i just don't want to share them if no ody wants them so please lmk 😭 anyways, have a good day/night!! :)