boris sat worried on the sofa, head in heads and occasionally glancing up at the clock on the wall. y/n should've been home seven hours ago. it was already four in the morning.
everyone in the house was asleep except for the anxious boy. he sat in the same spot four eight hours incase but she never came through the door or rung the doorbell.
y/n was a compulsive liar who told pretty lies. she could've said she was going to get groceries but was really drunk in the bathroom at a party. everything she said could've been a lie.
y/n could've looked boris in the face and told her that she loved him, even if it's fake. he didn't care anymore.
the door opened messily and y/n slowly walked in. she was disheveled, hair messy and her shoes in her hands. boris jolted up towards her and she smiled weakly at the feeling of his hands holding her face. "hey-" she slurred, looking at him intently, "boris. did you know that butterflies are made of b-butter?"
he sighed and walked her over to the sofa where they sat and she laid her head on his lap. "no, they are not. sleep."
even if he didn't show it, boris loved y/n yet he acted like they weren't there. the thought of love scared the boy, he was so scared.
and he was mush when she touched him, when she grazed her fingers against his arm or when she punched him jokingly, he became putty towards her touch: a fool for her.
and maybe you're too good for me. i'm only a fool for you, but i don't fucking care, at all.
