That Is, Of Course, I Love You (Boreo The Goldfinch Oneshots)

idk man

Theo POV // Probably going to be a whole lot shorter than the rest. To be honest, it's mostly just a really long kissing scene, but that's what you came here for, is it not? (half an hour later) Never mind, it's also kind of sad. You've been warned.

"Potter, where's the vodka?" Boris slurs. 

"You just drank some, idiot, it's on the table," I tell him, gesturing to the half empty bottle. He takes a swig, wipes his mouth, and takes my hand roughly. 

So it's going to be one of those nights.

We're sitting in my room, on my bed more specifically. It's midnight, but we're not planning on going to sleep anytime soon (apparently). The lamp by my bed glows warmly, but Boris clicks it off. We have nights like these a lot, and it's usually Boris who takes charge. That's not to say that I don't like it, 'cause I do. I just let Boris do what he wants, basically. 

Tonight I smell the vodka on Boris's breath as he moves closer to me. Sometimes I wish he'd leave the light on so I could see him and his pretty hair, but I think some part of him feels shame at what we do and would rather not see it at all. I wish I could tell him it was alright, that it was natural, but whenever I mention the it the next morning, he pretends he was too drunk to remember.

"Boris..." I say as he pushes me against the headboard of my bed. I wish we could talk, talk about what this means just once before or after. "Can we, like,  talk?" 

"Potter, shh." He lays down, almost on top of me but not quite. "No talking." I guess I'll save it for another night. The second his lips touch mine, all my resolve dissolves. Somewhere inside me I'm still thinking how I want more than drunk nights spent kissing, but for now this okay.

Boris holds my head gently in his hands, our foreheads and noses touching, our lips not quite. I got the sense he wanted to say something, his eyes open, staring into mine, but instead he just kisses me again. For a second all I feel was pity for him, that he was dealing with the internalized feelings that come with being gay or bi whatever it is he identifies with (or doesn't yet identify with). 

While Boris is busy kissing me, eyes closed, I open mine and let them adjust to the dark. Shifting a little so we were upright again, I wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other rested lightly on his shoulder, my fingers running through his hair. 

"Boris." He ignores me. "Boris," I repeat. This time he pulls back slightly, and in the hard and cold light of the streetlamp, I see the fear in his eyes. I can't bear to hurt him right now. "I... can you wait a second? I need to pee." he says nothing but detaches himself from me and lets me go. I didn't actually need to pee that much, but I went anyways. 

When I was back, I see that Boris was crying. This was bound to happen, I'm not even surprised. Repressed feelings manifest in inconvenient times. I step quietly over to the bed, careful not disturb the energy in the room, which was balancing precariously on some unknown precipice. "Boris..." he doesn't look up, keeping his head buried in this crossed arms resting on his knees. "What's wrong?" I ask gently, knowing full well what was wrong.

He said nothing but finally looked up at me with red rimmed eyes. I rubbed his shoulder, an attempt at comforting him, but it just made him more upset. "Potter, I... I don't know what to do." He rubs his eyes with his fists, a childlike gesture that makes me overwhelmingly sad for him. "I just... I don't want to be... this way."

I looks at him quizzically, wondering what he means by "this way;" then it dawns on me. "Boris, there's nothing wrong with us. With what we do." I don't give him any more physical affection, besides my arm around his shoulder, not wanting to scare him away.

"It's not even that I'm homophobic," he says, running a hand through his hair. "But when it's me, it's different. Like I shouldn't be this way, that is not normal, you understand Potter?" He turns to me, looking so innocent and helpless, a contrast to his usually cocky bravado.

But I do understand. I'm almost through that phase, of being ashamed, but I remember first realising I was in love with Boris and feeling so... gross. Like I was unnatural (though homosexuality is present in multiple animal species). "Boris, I do understand, but you just need to learn to accept yourself, you know? And know that nothing's wrong with you, that there's a whole community of people like us." 

Abruptly I feel the energy fall, smash with a bang and crash with a glittery brittleness. Boris nods curtly and kisses me gently. "I understand now, Potter. I'll try, for you." Tears still stream down his face, but I can tell that he's better now.

"Boris, I don't know if this was obvious or anything, but I really like you and have for a long time." Boris smiles wanly back at me, laying down and resting his head on a pillow.

"I know, Potter," he sighs. I lay down next to him, he on is back and me on my side, facing him. "I like you too." He says it like it pains him to say, but I make sure to let him know I'm proud of him by giving him a kiss on the cheek and nestling my head on his collarbone. "Hey, Potter," he whispers after a few contemplative minutes. "Wanna finish what we started?"

I feel myself grin, involuntarily. Looking at Boris's face, I can tell he's not quite over it, but rather eager to distract himself. Well, as long as he plans to acknowledge his issues in the future, I'm game... 

Rougher this time, Boris takes my head in his hands once again and kisses me forcefully. He lets me sit on his lap while he leans his back against the wall. His lips and his hands and his arms fit so well with me, I know we're supposed to be with each other, that it's okay we do this. I want to tell Boris that's how I got over my problems, by just appreciating him as a person and us as friends, as more than that. But I'm too distracted by his hands on me, under my shirt and on my face. 

Quickly, before I forget, I pull away. I tell in the dim light that Boris's eyebrows are knitted and his face is generally a caricature of a child getting something taken away. I put my hands around his neck again to let him know we're not done, but I still have something to say. "Boris. This is really important." At this he engages a little more. "Will... will you be my boyfriend?" 

Boris almost looks like he's about to cry again, but steels himself. "Potter... yes. Yes, I'll be your boyfriend." I feel relieved; I don't have to make any attempts to hide my feelings anymore. Boris is mine, and I am his.

This night turned out better than I ever could have hoped.

But whyyyyy did this take forever UGH. Very fun to write though. Thank you for reading, maybe vote if you liked it? No pressure though. Okay, bye.