boreo ; 𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔩𝔢𝔰:

touch me with your lips.

//notes: I'm back and with a flashback to an iconic part of book, you know that one with bloody knuckles, i always wondered how did that happen, anygay uwu and enjoy!//

night number  11

Theos pov

It was another warm evening in Las Vegas when the sun was setting down and we found a new place to just hang around instead of our empty homes. We sat and drank vodka on the creaking old swings on a playground, in an even more deserted desert. We saw the lights of Las Vegas somewhere in the distance, the world seemed completely distant. I often felt alone, despite the constant presence of Boris, but even he couldn't easily rid me of my deep-rooted grief somewhere. In the light of the setting sun and while  looking at the lonely old playground, I've craved for home, for my old somehow happy life, New York, my mother. . . As a child, she also took me to such playgrounds, where I played until late in the evening, of course without the presence of my father - he did not see any deeper meaning in it, and when I realized it later, he already lacked deeper fatherly feelings.

Suddenly I was saddened by the sudden nostalgia, and I had to drink another gulp of vodka because of the slowly growing anxiety in my throat. Boris must have noticed my wretched expression as I felt his gaze on me, he jumped off the swing and stood up behind me.

"a-a-a, a-a-a,
byly sobie kotki dwa.
a-a-a, kotki dwa,
szarobure, szarobure obydwa."

He began to sing some stupid song, probably in Polish, concluding that the words were different from Russian (after some time after I befriended him, I knew exactly when he spoke Russian and when Polish, although I often missed the meaning). He roared at the whole area (luckily no one was near) and he rocked me hard. The combination of his loud voice, high temperature, alcohol, and sharp rocking up and down didn't do me any good. I felt like shit, I was sick, my surroundings were twisting, and I saw one big white smudge. 

"Oh my God, shut the fuck up!" 

I shouted at him, I  jumped from the height of the swing. I stumbled, my balance was in shit, but I kept myself on my feet somehow, I turned with an angry almost murderous look at Boris as if he was the source of all my problems, I really didn't want to, but I managed to punch him right in the nose and lips. It was normal with us, we got drunk and fight like some quarrelsome siblings here and there. But for some reason I felt guilty and sorry for this, he didn't even deserve it, I just had nerves, and I beat it out on him. Sometimes I was terrified of what I could do in my blear alcoholic mind.

"Boris, I'm so-" I wanted to apologize, but Boris started singing again, and so my sudden regret passed me.

"A-a-a-a, kotku-" He provoked me with his voice, apparently he was enjoying it a lot because he also started to laugh really loud like some lunatic and I started chasing him between the jungle gym. Suddenly he stopped abruptly, I crashed into him, so he dragged me down with him into the sand. For a while, we were rolling in there like some muddy pigs. Boris started throwing a handful of sand in my face, and I returned it furiously by throwing the sand back into his black greasy hair. 

"Ha! At least you'll finally wash them," I laughed, sticking my tongue out at him.

"Blyat!"He swore in Russian and because he taught me some Russian swear words I knew he was pissed. A lot.

Then we calmed down a bit, still panting, just lying in the sand and staring at the deep blue sky.

"ach, śpij, kochanie,
jesli gwiazdke z nieba chcesz - dostaniesz."

This time Boris sang softly and at least quietly, it calmed me down step by step, and at least my head stopped shattering. I don't know what came to my mind, but I leaned over and wiped the blood from under his nose and out of the corner of my lips with my hands. He gave me a faint smile and then took my hand in his.

"Come on, Potter. We're going home." His tired eyes closed, but so did mine. Another wasted day. 

"wszystkie dzieci, nawet źle,
pogrążone są we śnie,
a ty jedna tylko nie."

"What? Sing it in English!" I frowned a little,  maybe I was still a little irritated with him, but to be honest I always loved his Russian. It calmed me,  it sounded like home. 

"All the kids are asleep, even the bad ones, but only you little one nyet," he explained, and I had to admit it was cute, it also rhymed. Boris must have felt some strange connection to that lullaby when he liked to sing it so much, and he later explained to me that his mother had sung it to him when she was still alive.

"Let's go," I nodded, feeling a sudden pride that I could call what we had with Boris home. He stood first, dusted himself off the sand, and pulled me by my hand up. I took a step back in the sudden vicinity. He looked at me as if he was trying to read my thoughts, then he took my hand with which I hit him and put my bloodied knuckles to his bloodied mouth. Unless. . .and I don't like to admit it, maybe it was just alcohol intoxication and it wasn't even serious, and maybe it didn't mean anything more, I longed for his lips in a completely different place.