why did it have to be me? - boreo

you promised me.

     I could feel myself waking up, and I hated it. It was around fourish in the morning, and I felt off. I looked at Boris, who was snoring lightly, something I always found funny and cute at the same time. He mumbled something in his sleep, which I couldn't figure out. He always looked so calm when he was sleeping.
Out of nowhere, my head started pounding. He still had a pretty strong grip on me for looking dead asleep. I wanted to get out of it, which was strange, but I did. I squirmed around, being able to get out of his grasp without waking him. I walked to the bathroom, hoping I could find an Advil. I opened up the cabinet, rummaging around until I found a bottle, opening it and putting one in my hand, taking it in a second.
I stared at myself in the mirror and just frowned. Was I really that bad? I wasn't, I couldn't be. I glanced at the open bottle, contemplating taking a few more before deciding against it. I lifted up my sweater and looked at my body, not knowing what to think when I saw my ribcage poking through. Boris seemed upset, but it was probably a normal weight. It was just the distribution of it all, that had to be it. I pulled the sweater back down, holding my head in my hands. I hated myself. I truly did. Everything was based off someone else, and I would depend on that person wholeheartedly, even if I was more like a game to them. I hated how I looked, how I felt, I hated who I was, who I had become. My mother would have disowned me by now if she knew what I had gotten into.
"Potter, why are you awake?" I heard a familiar voice ask as I felt cold hands slip under the sweater and wrap around my waist. It was Boris, go figure. He shoved his face in the crook of my neck and waited for a response.
"I'm don't know," I responded. "I was just thinking." It wasn't a lie, and I knew that. He didn't seem to buy it, though.
"Thinking about what?" he asked, tracing over my ribs in little flower-like patterns.
"Nothing," I said, lying through my teeth. "I wasn't thinking about anything."
"I'm tired, not stupid," he grumbled. "Tell me, Potter, what were you thinking about?"
     "I told you, it's nothing," I mumbled. "It really isn't anything."
     "Will you just tell me?" he asked. I kind of felt bad, he really did care.
     "I just feel like I don't look right," I said, almost in a whisper. "But I do, you don't think I look right. And it kinda hurts."
     "I love the way you look," he said, confusion visible on his face. "You're just.. unhealthy. Too skinny for your size. I worry about you, I do."
     "I'm not unhealthy," I quipped back. "And you don't worry about me. You worry about me when I'm sick, because you're scared of losing your drug buddy."
     "You are unhealthy. Underweight," he protested, lifting up my sweater. "I shouldn't be able to see your ribs. That's not good."
     I turned my head away. I refused to make his point stand. "Well, you can. Boo hoo. Cry about it."
     "I do love your body, Potter," he smiled. "Very pretty, and also very easy to pick up."
     "Sure," I mumbled. "I'm sure you must love my body, just about as much as you love me."
     "Mhm," he mumbled back. "I do love you, everything about you, I promise. Same with your body, although..." he started, glancing at my in the mirror with a smug smile. I was about to tell him to finish his sentence before he started kissing my neck, which I wasn't expecting. I felt my face heat up, but I wasn't sure if that was from the fever or from the kissing. He pulled away and laughed. "I do love it when your face gets all pink, that's my favorite part."
"Shut up, you prick," I grumbled, turning around and wrapping my arms around him. "You're an ass, you know that?"
"Mhm," he snickered, pulling me closer. "C'mon, let's get you back to bed, okay?"
I just nodded, there really wasn't much else to do this early. I reached for his hand, which he eagerly grabbed, intertwining our fingers together. He smiled at me and leaned down a bit.
"May I have this dance?" he laughed, taking his hand off my waist to grab my free hand and putting it on my shoulder before returning his own to my side.
I just giggled and nodded, letting him half-waltz us back to bed. He kissed my forehead before quite literally throwing me on the bed, climbing in next to me and pulling me close.
"We're getting food in you sometime soon," he mumbled, rubbing up and down my spine. "I'll be here when you wake up again, I promise you."
I just nodded, less to the food part than the waking up part. It felt nice to have him close, and knowing that he wouldn't leave the house while I was asleep was comforting.