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The Time It Was Dark Outside
It was the middle of the night, and Theo was terrified.
He could hear the yelling all the way from outside of the house— understanding it wasn't important. All he knew was that Boris's father did not sound pleased, and if the sharp cry of pain had anything to do with it, Theo was going to be pissed when Boris came out of the house hurt.
It sucked when he had to run away and Boris was getting beat on while Theo stood by and listened. He heard another soft thud and a muffled groan, and winced. He remembered the feeling of cold fingers lacing together with his own for the first time just that afternoon— hushed plans for him to stay the night, soft giggles as they built a nest of sheets and blankets then cracked open a few beers and threw on a movie.
Then the door slammed, and everything went to shit.
It wasn't the first time. Boris's father often came home drunk and furious when he wasn't supposed to be back for another day— sometimes even another week. But it always ended the same.
Sometimes Boris didn't come outside afterwards. Those were the times that Theo worried the most. What if he was truly hurt? What if he couldn't walk, and had no way to call for help? But what could he do? Guiltily, he would walk home, and if Boris's face and arms were littered with bruises the next day, they didn't speak of it.
This night, Theo clutched the hem of his shirt tightly in his fists and watched through the window, wincing at every smack of cane against body. When the shouting ceased, and there was silence after another door slammed, he took a deep breath and made his decision.
He wasn't going to just leave this time.
Theo snuck around the side of the house and back through the opened sliding glass door. Inching his way around the corner, he found a battered and bleeding Boris laying semi-conscious on the floor. His eyes were glassy, lips parted, bottom one split and trickling red. Heart beginning to crack, Theo got down on his knees and pulled the boy into a sitting position.
"Boris," he whispered, fingertips brushing his face gently. "Are you okay?"
"Leave, Potter," Boris mumbled through his swollen lip, seeming to stare straight through Theo and at the opposite wall behind him. "Is fine."
"It's not," Theo protested, voice trembling. "It's not okay, Boris, you're hurt, you—"
"Shh, Potter," he whispered, pressing a shaking finger to Theo's lips, then turned his hand, running his thumb along the lower one delicately and cupping Theo's face in his palm. "Go home. I see you tomorrow."
"I'm taking you with me," Theo said firmly, shifting and getting Boris's arm over his shoulder. "I'm not leaving you here like this."
"Adventure?" The boy questioned hopefully— it was a long trek across town between their houses— and Theo sighed, slipping his arm around the taller boy's waist to support him.
"Yes," he agreed, glancing around the corner to watch for Boris's father before helping him stumble towards the exit. He grabbed the umbrella off of the hook as he went and closed the door quietly behind them, opening the contraption and holding it up. "You wanna hold it for us?"
"Is middle of night, silly," Boris giggled, but took it anyway, fumbling with it for a moment. Theo's fingers closed around Boris's to help him grip it, and they'd tarted to trudge along, the taller boy supporting more and more of his own weight until he was hardly leaning on Theo at all.
"Under this umbrella, safe from all things," Theo quoted softly. Boris stopped for a minute, turning his head to look, and Theo met his gaze shyly, tilting his head.
"You are strange, Potter," The boy told him, and Theo just shrugged, looking away and starting to walk again. It did not cool down during the night. He was sweating by the time they got to the end of the road and turned. They got almost the entire way across town before Boris spoke again.
"Am exhausted, Potter," he murmured as they rounded the corner onto Theo's street.
"I know," Theo said. He had let go of the umbrella and allowed his friend to hold it on his own. It was true— there was no need in the middle of the night. But it felt welcoming to have it out, and Boris seemed to know it, too. They walked up to Theo's front door and stopped, closing the umbrella, and turning to face each other.
"Thank you," Boris said simply.
"I'm not going to leave without you when he gets back anymore," Theo replied, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. "If you don't come with me when we hear the door, I'm not leaving."
"Potter, you must—" the boy started to protest, but Theo cut him off, shaking his head.
"I can't leave you to get your ass kicked every week, Boris," he sighed, looking down. "I don't like you getting hurt."
"Is fine," Boris waved it off.
"It's not," Theo countered, grabbing his hand. "It's not fine. He doesn't treat you right."
"So what?" Boris asked, shrugging his shoulders. "What is difference? Wrong, right, bah. Father is father."
"No," Theo disagreed. "Right is making dinner for you every night, and being there enough to make sure you actually eat it. Right is being there to see when you get a D - on your test and be proud because it's better than all of your Fs." Boris tilted his head, squinting at Theo and frowning. Theo sighed and continued. "Right is having nights where you watch things you both like, and laughing together, and caring about each other. Right is when a person feels like home. Right is loving each other."
"So we are right, yes?" Boris asked, grinning toothily and further splitting his lip, but he didn't react. Theo's heart skipped a beat. Boris raised his eyebrows. "Home is under this umbrella," he added, waving it in the air. "Potter is under this umbrella," he continued. "So Potter is home."
