why did it have to be me? - boreo

i wish.

TW: this is for mentions of not eating, and again if you're struggling with thoughts or things like those, please feel free to contact me anytime

I woke up to arguing, and an empty bed. Two things I hated. I assumed Boris had left, and after my outburst last night, I couldn't blame him. I went to grab a pillow and curl around it, like I did when Boris was gone, but I ended up just getting a shot of pain through my whole body. I felt so weak, I hated it. I still tried to wrap myself around the pillow, despite my body trying to stop me. I tried to suck in a breath, but that just hurt more, a dagger-like pain shooting through my side. I bit down on my lip, trying to divert the pain somewhere, anywhere else. I heard someone coming up the stairs and, assuming it was Xandra or my dad, tried to move the pillow as quick as I could. I could barely move, so I just gave up.
"Potter?"
I opened my eyes just enough to see Boris, who sat down next to me on the bed. I made a feeble attempt to tilt my head, which did nothing but make me feel like I was getting a bullet through my skull.
He frowned and pulled me up, which I didn't like at all. He moved the hair off my forehead and felt it, pulling his hand away in a second. He laid me back down gently and walked out, coming back in a minute. He had the thermometer in his hand again and sat me back up, and it took almost everything in me to not pass out again and not to fall back down. He put the thermometer near my mouth, and I opened it, which seemed to surprise him. I didn't have enough energy to fight him today. He stared at me worriedly as he waited for the beep. He pulled it out of my mouth and his eyes widened.
"104.9," he mumbled. "Potter, you need a doctor, I wish I could take you to one."
I just shrugged a bit, my arms aching as if they had been broken. He looked so concerned, I wish I could tell him I was fine, even if he wouldn't believe me. He laid me back down and then lied down next to me, pulling me as close to him as he could.
"I'm so sorry, I really am," he mumbled to me, stroking my hair, which actually was in desperate need of being washed. It was greasy. "I wish you would have told me how you felt, I never would have left your side. Never."
     "Boris, it's fine," I muttered through gritted teeth, my throat dry and sore. "Don't.. don't apologize, please."
     "Don't speak, please, just rest your voice," he murmured. "Please, just sleep. I can't lose you, please."
     I didn't say anything. I didn't even nod. If crying didn't hurt so bad, I wouldn't have choked back the sobs forming at the back of my throat. I felt horrible, in both senses. I felt guilty, for putting up such a fight every time he tried to be nice, and then there was the physical pain. I was shaking, but I didn't know if it was because I was cold or because I was stopping myself from crying.
     "If you're trying to stop crying, don't," he said quietly. He knew me too well. "You bottle everything up too much. I'm here, I'm not going to leave. Please trust me."
     I did. It may be a stupid mistake that I'll regret later, but I did trust him. I shook my head a little bit.
     "It hurts to cry." I mumbled, scratching at my throat.
     He nodded and pulled me closer, kissing the top of my head. He mumbled some things to me in Polish, and although I couldn't understand them, they still were soothing.

"Potter, wake up," I heard Boris say as he shook me a bit. I opened my eyes a sliver, just enough to see his face. He looked stressed, but I don't know what for. "Potter, are you okay?"
I nodded. "Why?" I mumbled, reaching up and gripping my throat immediately after. At this point, it hurt to do anything.
"Your fever was 104.8," he said, showing me the thermometer. "You need a doctor. Do you know anyone?"
I shook my head. "Wasn't it higher before I fell asleep?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"Yes, 104.9, but that's barely an improvement," he frowned. "You look horrible."
I rolled my eyes. How sweet of him.
"You need a bath," he said, running his fingers through my hair. "And your hair should be washed. I know you hate your hair being greasy."
I nodded. "I can't wash it, I can barely talk, idiot." I whispered, wincing as I spoke.
     "I can do it for you," he mumbled. "You haven't showered in a while, anyways. You smell like medicine."
     "I don't care," I shrugged, trying to find an alternative to just wincing or gritting my teeth when I spoke. "I really don't."
     "That's not an answer," he said. "Nod or shake your head, don't talk, do you want me to wash your hair for you?"
     I nodded. I did want clean hair, I could deal with it being greasy for a few days, but it had been over my period of okay-ness.
     "Stay here, I'll go get everything, okay?" he asked, looking me up and down. I nodded and waited for him, almost falling asleep again, but thankfully not. He came back in and carried me to the bathroom with a soft smile, kissing my forehead. He sat me down and tugged at the hem of the sweater, checking to make sure he could take it off. I nodded, of course. I knew he was only washing my hair, but I didn't want any water on the sweater, it might ruin it. He slid it off of me, frowning when he saw my frame.
"What?" I quipped. I didn't like the way he was looking at me.
"Have you been eating?" he asked, and the question surprised me. I realized I hadn't. I shook my head and looked down at my hands.
"Why not?" he questioned further, tracing over my ribcage with his index finger.
I shrugged, acting as if I didn't know. I couldn't tell him why. At first, it was a mix of intentional and unintentional— I physically couldn't eat, I think it was the pain of my mom being gone. Then, I just.. forgot. I never felt hungry, so I didn't eat, which seems normal. I hadn't eaten something substantial in a while, but I just couldn't force myself to shove something down my throat. He didn't have to know that, though.
He seemed displeased with my answer, or lack thereof in his eyes. He just sighed and leaned my head back, using a plastic cup to wet my hair.
"Is that okay?" he asked, referring to the water. I nodded, the temperature was fine. He lathered the shampoo and put it in my hair, the soap foaming over my ears and the suds almost getting into my eyes. They didn't, thank God. He lathered the conditioner in my hair and dried his hands off, letting it sit for a few minutes.
     "What time did you wake up today? Show me on your fingers." he said, picking at the skin around his nails.
     "I don't know, I guess noon," I mumbled, ignoring what he said. "Why?"
     "Just curious," he mumbled back, grabbing the cup again and rinsing out the conditioner. He drained the tub and grabbed a towel to dry my hair, waiting until it wasn't soaking anymore to put the sweater back on. "What did you hear when you woke up?"
     "Arguing. I thought it was my dad and Xandra," I mused, fixing the sweater around the collar. "Why?"
     "It wasn't them," he said bluntly, a hint of disgust in his voice. "It was us."
     I tilted my head, confused. "Us? As in, you and I?" I asked.
     "No, it was me and Kotku," he said, fixing my hair. "Sorry we woke you, Potter."
     "I don't care, you know I don't," I said. "What were you guys fighting about?"
     "You."
     "Me? Why me?"
     "She thinks I spend too much time with you," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "She said she wouldn't be surprised if you were trying to steal me away from her. Can you believe that? We do not like each other like that."
     I nodded, a pang of guilt filling my stomach. I felt like I was lying to him. Because I did like him like that, I really did, and I always will. I think it hurt more hearing it come from his mouth that we don't, like he gave up on the idea, although I know he didn't even put any thought into it. I wish he would. I wish, for once, that he would think about us being together. Take my hints, notice my short responses when he talked about her. Just for once, I'd like him to actually put some thought behind something.
     "Potter? Are you alright? You look sick again," he said, feeling my forehead again. I smacked his hand away. "What was that for?"
     "Just leave me alone." I muttered, turning away from him, seething in pain.
     "No," he responded, turning me to face him. "Stop bottling things up. Tell me. Please, Potter, I can help."
     I shook my head. "No, you can't. For once, you can't help me, sorry."
"Please just tell me, I won't try to help, I can listen," he smiled softly. "I promise."
"You promise a lot of things." I quipped. I wasn't wrong, and I wasn't lying. If he had a problem with that, then he could have his problem. I'm right.
     He sighed and rolled his eyes, carrying me back to bed. He laid me down and climbed in next to me almost simultaneously, wrapping an arm around my waist, my back facing his chest. He buried his face into my neck, which tickled.
     "Borisss," I whined, giggling a bit. "Move your stupid face!"
     He started laughing, too. "Why, Potter? Why should I?" he questioned, kissing my neck softly.
     "It tickles, knock it off!" I laughed, trying to push him off. It didn't work, he only did it more, not that I was complaining. Eventually we were both out of breath from laughing so hard, so we broke apart. He lied down on the pillow and stared at me, and a smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer, kissing the top of my head.
     "Please sleep now," he mumbled into my hair. "It's late. Your head is still kind of hot. Try to sleep the fever off."
     "I'm not tired," I mumbled back, reaching for his hand. "I'll be alright if I stay up for a few more minutes."
     "No. Sleep."
     "Make me, bitchass."
     "You say that like I don't already," he mumbled, rubbing up and down my spine. "Please sleep, Potter. I promise I'll be here when you wake up."
     "You promise promise? Swear on Popper?" I asked. He made so many empty promises, I wanted this one to be real.
     "I swear on you and Popchyk," he smiled. "Cross my heart and hope to live. I'll be here when you wake up."
     I ended up falling asleep, listening to him humming some sort of lullaby I didn't understand. Tonight was the night that I think I needed. His comfort, his touch, his laugh. His touch was always like ice, which might have been an explanation for this chills sent down my back, but I don't think it was. I think it was just the fact that he was near me that would send them, and feeling his hands anywhere on me felt like a blessing. His laugh, which always reminded me of a mix of a half-wilted honeysuckle and an old grandfather clock for some reason, could make Ebenezer Scrooge smile. The way his eyes lit up reminded me of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, something I used to stare at for hours and just grin. Something about him, this stupid jerk that would never be able to love me the way I love him, made me so incredibly happy.

     And I wish I knew how to stop that, so I could stop being so upset over the fact that he's in love with someone else.

a/n: hiiii!!! so this was kind of happy and sad, but i promise this is going to get more romantic because at this point i think i have u guys enough sad stuff 😭 anyways popchyk slays and have a good day/night !!! :)

wc: 2083 !!