Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

оніміння
adjective ; UA
Unable to feel anything.

Boris isn’t exactly the best of the people and he knows, he knows he can (or will) be a horrible person. He’s what society liked to call a “trashy person”, a bully, mocking and making fun of everyone he considered inferior or stupid, because most of the society’s fucking retard, and a junkie, ‘cause, you know. Then, what else could he do? He didn’t care that much about others' opinions and he won’t change them and won’t change, and he tried to, he really tried.

❝Is that okay for you?❞. He blinks. Her ginger drummer’s looking for an answer. ❝Did you even pay fucking attention?❞

❝No❞, answers, making her pinch his cheek hardly.

❝Now I know why Mari always gets hard on you, you zoomed out really quick and often. Are you doing drugs again?❞

❝No❞. He didn’t even leave them. Grow up, Marsh, it isn’t easy to leave addictions for people of his type, put your thoughts in a better order. ❝Just repeat the shit❞.

She started all over again, he focused this time and tried to not black out on the coach at the same time. He got a long shift last night, pretty bad tips, a customer complained about some shitty drink to him and a drunk girl threw him a margarita. He hates his night job, but the bills need to be paid, he needs food, he doesn’t have Bill Gates or Putin’s income to be a complete jerk over the working social class.

❝And that’s all, alright?❞, she finished and he nods, he’s fine with that, ❝also, I crave a boon❞.

❝What boon?❞

❝❝Richie got a new roommate, they get pretty well. He really stands Rich❞.

Wow, that’s new and a miracle, Richie was a complete annoyance and a menace to society in a nerdy way, always talking about dinosaurs, sharks and making bad puns he even wanted to hit him with his motorbike.

❝So, I want him to meet the rest, you know, Mari and Evan❞.

❝I’ll think about it, you kind of convenience me when you say they stand Trash-trash❞.

❝He’s name is Will, I think you’ll like him too❞.

Boris knows it’s too sudden for assumptions.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

Boris doesn’t like much about New York. Maybe because he wasn’t from it from the start, he’s born in some part of Australia he can’t remember, maybe it was Sydney, every aussie seemed to be from there. But it didn’t make him sad being far from his birthplace, nor like it was a proper home, nor every place he lived with his fucking abusive dickhead father. At least, the best his dad did was to leave him, one of the reasons he’s there now in NY needing to work as a waiter to survive and college score to keep if he doesn’t want to see his gentle scholarship sink on Hudson’s River.

But he has a pretty average life. He wakes up every morning hating himself a little less that yesterday, he searches and eats if he finds not-expired-yet crap and goes to his faculty to pretend he wants to study about the dirty and horrendous american political system, hoping it’ll help him in the future when he becomes U.S. president; if he’s lucky, he has a good Marina’s prep lunch before going back to study, do homework, take a few coke lines as he enjoys his afternoon and goes to work until it’s almost midnight, he returns to his place and the routine restarts the next day. In better days he had band plays.

His band, a varios rock theme band he started when he was sixteen, his only worthy life project, his golden egg, as important as his letter jacket, The Outcast, formed with his only friends.

He’s fine with his life,or at least, he tells himself to be.

He’s been lacking joy for a long time. He couldn't count exactly when, he isn’t an idiot, he knows something’s wrong in him, and he tried to make something about it. With his short base knowledge and searches he tried to find alternatives to the relapse of his sadness: no-receipt-needed pills, new hobbies (he learnt how to make origami flowers and shit) and exercises. But it didn’t seem to help this time, still the same mad person. At least, someone could give him a medal for trying, but no one gives medals to “try” in real life, or for standing shit.

❝Beers for 6th table!❞ the manager shouted, making him go to grab them, ❝don’t try to play fun, Pavlikovsky, we’re pretty tight❞.

❝I’ll not sir, no problem❞.

He hates his boss, he’s three years older and he thinks he’s a CEO or something, bossing around, talking about how incredible is to have a BMW and a nice rich girl, how’s been getting fucked by the bartender of the morning shift.

Boris passed by drunk people, experimental music blew his ears, too much make-up here, too many boys talking about skinny girls and too many colored-lights. He manages to serve the table of three white girls in mini skirts and crop-tops, he smiles at them, just to play a bit.

The manager is obviously pissed off, but he doesn’t care, he takes his time-off after that to smoke. He goes through the backroom’s back door to the alley, he lights up a cigarette and blows.

He wonders if, someday, he’ll be far away from here, from New York or something. He imagines moving to a nice silent place, like a little lost town, like Salem or Mayflower, into a small house with a small front garden with flowers. But he answers himself, he can’t, he’s stuck here and it wasn’t as bad as his inner depressed voice wanted to make it look. He had a floor, a place to sleep, friends, money and even…

Well, he doesn’t know if he can count Theo as something important in his life again. But he’s done already with all.

Why does all feel so numb? Like, if no one felt the same way as he. Tired of life. A little bit tired of life, like don’t be happy but keep going on, like you’re hanging from a rope but not wanting to die.

He finishes his cigarette to come in again, his boss will go nuts if he doesn’t go back to work quickly. He works this shift from 6:00 p.m to 1:00 a.m this time, he splits the tips with two other partners and takes a cold hamburger to go.

New York nights at least were as magical as the starry nights from Las Vegas, the lights were like it, the streets were empty but loud, it’s cold but not enough to feel it and the sea breeze was less salty. He drives his ass to his apartment on the “sightseeing” route, on the 9A and hopes to not hear his neighbors fighting again.

His complex looked good on the outside and from the inside, but his floor was like the cardboard-box of a homeless person. The foyer is a complete mess, the wall rack has 7-Eleven plastic bags with whatever, the soft seat is filled with shoes and boots, and the key basket has cigarette dust and packs. The living room wasn’t better, even when he spent his early morning rearranging things, it still had the vodka stain on the couch and carpet, and dust on the coffee table. But he isn’t in the mood to clean right now, not like he’s ever in the cleaning mood.

He takes off his shoes and throws them around, he hangs up his black letter jacket and walks to the kitchenette, not caring if there's broken glass and he steps on it. He sets the microwave to heat his hamburger up, finishes a half-left beer can and checks his phone. He has 3 missing calls from Marina, was tagged in a rock post and someone liked his “deep shit” post. Starting from the start, he phones the black-coffee-hair girl.

❝Vishnya?❞, he says when he stops hearing the ringing tone, ❝awake at this hour? Bad for a lil’ baby❞.

Cut the shit, Borya, are you home?

❝Now I am, thanks for the concern. I’m making me dinner❞, if dinner was microwaving a hamburger and drinking beer at this hours, ❝what were the missing calls for?❞

Mom was worrying about you, she heard someone passed for a overdose and she won’t let us alone if I didn’t check you’re alive

❝Well, I am, tell Donna not to worry, I’m not that stupid❞, he mocks, he clearly wasn’t enough stupid to die from an overdose. ❝don’t talk to me as if I was a small kid needing constant monitoring, I’m still alive. And stop the mad face I know you are doing it❞.

Well, sorry to being worried for you. You obviously have everything under control

He clicks his tongue, again the green-eyes was making her monologue of “being a good person who pukes rainbows and flowers” and felt concern for him, for his welfare and other fallacies he might not tolerate. But she was indeed right. She doesn’t lie to him, not about that kind of crap and it makes him feel worse, because he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t deserve it.

Just take care, Boris.
I’m need to leave, still doing homework

❝Good night, cherry pie, sleep tight❞. Boris ends the call as he puts out his hamburger to eat at the counter, wondering if she was going to be mad at him for a while.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

He was doing his Intro to American Politics notes when a newspaper fell on top of his second-hand stolen book. He looked at the hazel eyes of Perkins, trying to understand the vague look he’s having on him.

❝I was reading that❞, finally says, pointing to Democracy in America’s book, ❝and I’m doing homework❞.

❝I know you are but, look at this bullshit❞, had in reply.

TThe bullshit was, in fact, news about how the music industry was dying and how band covers weren’t as trascendental as it looked. Boris knew about it, he read it yesterday and was upset all afternoon that he wrote in his essay that John Addams could screw off and suck Washington’s dick, more or less. They meet their eyes again and he tries to focus on not answering like a bitch.

❝So what?❞, he clearly failed.

❝So what? Criminy, Boris, they talk shit to bands like us as if Panic! at the Disco wasn’t a Blink-182 band cover❞.

❝Propaganda, media shit, you know, news aren’t always right and we know it ‘cause we’re living the ❛band cover’s life❜ playing in dirty bars and streets❞. Yeah, he’s being a mouth-breather about it. ❝Stop crying on my notes, layno❞.

❝Boris is kind of right, Evan❞, seconded Beverly, stopping from painting his toenails, ❝Bands can start covering but it doesn’t mean they can jump into fame by just that. But we aren’t changing our band status, not if Borya doesn’t share something with us❞.

The gray-eyed boy sighs. Why was everything on him? He sure was the lead singer, but not the writer of the group, for that there were Bev and Maria or even Evan could do a better job than his in the subject. Maybe it’s the stereotype of the leader being the one writing something deep and harcore from his troubled life and past lovers, but he isn’t Taylor Swift guys, you can fuck it suck it.

❝Why this is on me again?❞, he wonders out loud, putting the newspaper away to continue his duty, ❝Marina does a great job writing, so you do Bev, and I liked your last lyrics❞.

❝Haunting Me it’s crap, and we wrote it half drunk while you wrote this ❛I hope you die❜ thing❞.

He remembers, but he isn’t bringing the topic. He laughs a little, returning to his notes to stop avoiding Evan’s whining, and Bev’s disillusioned sight. Two hours later, Marina and Beverly’s best friend, Richie, were coming in with pizza boxes and soda, announcing being the “saviors of the poor unfortunate hungry souls”.

But, he couldn’t fully enjoy his pepperoni-with-mushroom slice.

He flutters in the same sentences, “not if Borya doesn’t share something with us”. He didn’t mean to be rude to Taylor, he likes her last albums, Folklore being above them all, and he’s sure there’s a 1989 official merch shirt somewhere in his closet. He admits he’s jealous of her and other magnificent songwriters who made wonders with their experiences and past lovers, because, in fact, he tried to write like them. He tried to write about what he knows, about love and despair, his own experience being an outcast, but all turned to something he could pick out of the trash or a mad song.

Boris was a horrible person AND horrible expressing emotions. Two in one.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

❝Are you free this night?❞

The voice of her pink-and-black streaked-hair friend echoes in the study space in the library. She’s looking at him, with her sad, big and sky-blue eyes painted with black shadows, she never really left her grunge-and-forsaken style behind when leaving Las Vegas. Boris took his book out of his sight, arching an eyebrow with doubt.

❝What I mean is, Aster and I are going hardcore on a night club, maybe flirt a bit, but I want you to come since Ellie and Eby aren’t coming. Enjoy life a bit, studying must be killing your soul and you need a tequila sunrise and a hook up❞, she argues, playing with the top of his pencil at the same time.

❝I’m not, Kotku, sorry❞, replies, making her pout for the nickname and the answer itself, ❝ I’m busy, woman, I’m not like you who has her Calculus professor eating your pussy to pass. And I am not going to suck my teacher’s dick❞.

❝You’re missing it❞.

❝And so, why to study when you can follow mommy’s path?❞, he becomes self-conscious when she buries his pencil on the desk. ❝Ok, sorry. I was joking❞.

❝I know you were. You’re always this forgetful, you sure forgot I like to study so I can earn money after I graduate and that I’m pretty smart, most with math, just a bit lazy. But stop making this about me, why are you going to be busy?❞ she asks.

❝The Outcasts have a play on Coraline’s❞.

❝I must assume, it’s all for your homosexual misfits’ band❞.

Now he’s the one looking at her with murdering eyes.

❝I’m joking❞, she uses against him, ❝but like, didn’t they banned you ‘cause Marsh friend almost drank all the liquor?❞

❝Yes, they did, screw Richard for that❞, comments with annoyance, ❝but Maria succeed to giving us another chance. Misfits’ God bless her❞.

Kotku laughs below for his prayerful gestures, making him smile.

She still looked cute when she smiled, when she’s happy, far away from her mother and ex-boyfriends' toxic behaviors towards her. He was surprised when she still had the same emo Ophelia look when they met again in Brooklyn in his junior year, but certainly, she had more colors in her face than back then, and she was happy to meet him too, more or less like he was. They had a big warm hug and talked for hours about how they’d been doing.

He laughs about how he was in love with her and how he isn’t even when she was looking better than ever, maybe he wasn’t even in love with her on those days, young dumb people can pretend to be after all.

❝Well, hope all goes well this time, you deserve it❞. She plays with his hair, messing with it more than it was before, ❝also, I heard a rich girl is throwing a party soon❞.

❝Tell me about it, sunshine❞.

❝I don’t have details, but I heard from Aster that heard from Ebony this Lambrini girl is throwing a kind of birthday party because his parents are leaving town soon, and that she loves rock bands. Let me gather more data❞.

Boris smiles this time. Kotku was a cunning bitch.

Chapter Text

lyubov'
adjective ; RUS
A quality that makes you like or feel attracted to someone or something.

He was charmed by a stranger.

It’s odd to think about it, a thing that never happens in real life, but in those young adult romance novels like those Kotku used to read. But it happened. It happened to him, he wasn’t drunk nor high, he was a sober motherfucker that picked up from the crowd a stranger that charmed him.

He tried to not think too much about it after his band played, he tried not to when he returned to his place to sleep nor when he woke up. But his mind somehow fluttered back there, to the stage and the rush of emotions on those brown eyes of an unknown dreamboy. It left him breathless, perhaps helpless (but he isn’t telling that) and wondering why. Why did it happen? He’s figuring out.

While wondering, he had time to pick up his messy place, organize his shit, to do homework quietly, to not make puns or being his usual friendly-rude to his friends. He believed he was dealing with it right, at least before someone said something about it.

❝What’s happening to you?❞. The next day someone said something about it. He was scrolling on his cellphone in The Cabin’s couch, not caring a shit for anything more when Marina “Cherry Pie” talked to him. She looked pissed off and worried at the same, funny to see when she wore her Sanrio’s white pullover on. ❝Hey! I’m talking Rasputin, what’s up with you?❞

❝With me? I don’t think I understood❞, replied, confused, trying not to laugh at her.

She took a place on the couch, next to him.

❝You’ve been silent for your own good, and thinking too much that I fear your brain to burn❞, she explained. She rested her soft hand on his shoulder, it meant he needed to look at her eyes and tell the truth or she was going to bend his fingers. ❝Is about Theo?❞

What?

❝Why– Why would it be about him? I haven’t talked to him since a while. He’s busy so do I. It isn’t about him❞, answered, making her concern lower a little. He takes a deep breath, ❝it’s… it is about the americano❞.

❝Will?❞, asked Fake Molly Ringwald being a tattletale. When Boris looked at her, she returned to her Vogue magazines.

❝Yes, about that guy❞.

❝He was very impressive up there❞, interrupted the conversation Evander, playing with the look of his camera, ❝I didn’t imagine that little body having that enormous voice. You know who I think it sounded like? Conan Gray❞.

❝Doesn’t he? I thought the same❞.

❝Please, Van, Bevvie❞. Both shut up. ❝Is about Will, Borya, what about him?❞

He fucking needed time to organize the thoughts on his cloudy head, but since now he’s the central theme, has to organize faster than he wanted. At first, he throws the “charmed” concept out of his mind, just for now. Of course he’s amazed, but a dreamy answer isn’t his aesthetic. He focused on a more analytical response, the voice, soft, cozy and yet, powerful as Perkins said. It gave a new whole level and air to their playing.

❝He was good up there. I think I really liked it❞, answers finally. And they were impressed. He returned his gray eyes to his phone to avoid the looks on him to continue, ❝I’d like to meet him again❞

Silence. He almost felt he screwed up or else, because even Berryfield was quiet, and Mari being silent meant something positive or disturbing.

❝So do we❞, answered the dark-coffee-look hair girl, he could see without seeing it, her big bright smile of happiness, ❝He was really incredible! Bev and I were talking to invite him to hear one of our practices! What about that?❞

❝Nah, too overrated. I want to test him, no objections❞.

❝Always Boris being a jerk. Tomorrow sounds fine?❞, suggested the blonde

❝Hold up, freaks, tomorrow I have a test and I’m going to be finally hanging in Potter’s❞, reminded them, making the coquette girl sight listlessly and the one in her side snort, ❝I have a fucking life, Jesus Christ❞.

❝As if bother Decker was ❛a life❜, dumbssie❞, mumbled Evan with some poison on his words.

❝No one said a shit of you being in Berryfield’s house almost two times per day❞, spited, showing his middle finger and having a middle finger in reply, ❝so shut up, layno❞..

Beverly showed him some fashion designs for their next play before he could say something. Boris took this as his winning call, even if a red-faced Mari punched him with a cushion.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

He lied, at least it was a half-lie. He had his Political Europe Democracy Theories’ test and he passed with the minimum, he really wanted a better score but it was a bit tricky. He left the aula and skipped his next lecture course to smoke and complained about life with himself, in his mind, where everything stayed in his place sometimes.

Boris wasn’t exactly the top student of his classes, but he was a notable student and he could keep his scholarship close to his chest.

He really tried to improve his grades, he had been trying since he was in elementary school (as the americans called it), because he believed perfect grades would make his father proud, at least for a tiny second. Then, because they were the key to a scholarship far away from that asshole. Now, because it was his second principal monthly income, the income for his college stuff and marijuana.

He didn't bother Potter at his work, or in his department with Pippa. He bought some mexican food and returned to his a-bit-organized floor. He laid on the floor, biting his chicken burrito as he looked at the ceiling, not knowing if he wanted it to disappear so he could see some clouds or to merge with the dusty floor. Maybe he wanted to disappear because of a low grade and a low self esteem.

He wasn't exactly academically brilliant, he had talent with music and creativity to persist, but he was jealous of those who succeed in more rational things.

For example, even if he half-hates Richie's partner, hypochondriac Kaspbrak, he's very smart. He saw his A and A+ on Richie's album photos on his phone, and that little "Mister Perfect" has this huge school's income and maybe even a sure future work in some big important enterprise. He made a good decision by studying Economics and Statistics. What was the bet for Political Science?

Or not so utopian, Beverly was a femme fatale, and he believes she stills being it, young, beautiful, seductive, intelligent and funny. He never met someone that could have all the eyes when they walked across.

They had things that he wished to have. He wasn't very mathematical smart, he remembered all his life failing calculus, physics and algebra by being easily distracted or didn't care about the topic. And if he thinks objectively, it's a contradiction how he tried but at the same time not giving a shit. He still has good traits. He knows how to get away with a winning smile, he can be persuasive and very resilient. But, what more?

❝What more?❞, he wondered out loud.

Maybe if he didn't pass all his teenage years selling junk, getting drunk and high and studied more harder, things might be at least slightly different, maybe even he wouldn't have met Potter and Kotku, he wouldn't have stayed with Xandra, he wouldn't have met Marina and, of course, wouldn't have been laying on the floor while eating a chicken-with-beans burrito like he was high enough to see colors and shapes.

He finished his lunch before he could think about sniffing coke, sitting in his living room to do his homework, passing the lecture-he-skipped notes and turning on the small speaker he has.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

He writes songs sometimes, not meant to be shared, but he writes. He’s writing in his break with one of the bar’s pens, trying to figure out if he’s repeating the word “lie” and derivations too much, when he’s taken out of it when his boss screams at some of the new employees like if he owned the bard and this girl broke down the liquor. A reminder of how shitty life was with people like them, but he wondered if it was also for people like his boss, or the stars he admires.

❝Boris! Get your ass back to work, we need more waiters!❞, he hears one coworker screaming from the beverage counter.

❝Idy!❞, he screams back, leaving his notebook on his backpack, putting on back his apron.

He goes to a table with three customers. He looks at one of them, a weirdly similar boy to him, almost the same tone of black hair, but he had deep brown eyes, who’s with two ladies or something.

❝Welcome to B-Komanchi, I’m Boris, your waiter, this night we have piña coladas in a two for one and pretty decent discounts on whiskeys❞, he takes out his bar notebook to take the orders, the girls laughs, ❝what’s so funny, pretty ladies?❞

❝I didn’t think you were still working here after Aster’s incident❞.

He finally pays attention to them, there’s a pretty tight black leather mini skirt with a lace up tank top and remarkable red eyeliner on Ebony, Miss Ebony Crawford, top student of their generation, perfect grades, secretary of the student council and the “most beautiful smile” in the annuary; Aster’s friend, best friend, her problematic junkie friend whom he had a hand-to-heel fight when he almost had to pay for broken plates.

And of course there’s Ellie Bunmi, the one with no remarkable personality.

❝I couldn’t believe it myself, but Aster’s a sweetheart and she took the blame, ‘cause it was hers. So, what are you ordering my fine sir?❞

He hears her laugh, more like an annoyed laughter, and he’s satisfied with it. His weirdly similar twin looks at him, as shocked as him to realize they’re kind of alike. He wondered if they were actually twins, he wouldn’t be hanging out with those girls. The boy looked at the girls and they nodded.

❝We want cubalibres and a Goslings Black Seal, please❞.

❝On my way, hope you enjoy the atmosphere and please, Crawford, don’t flirt again with our employees❞.

❝Fuck you, Pavlikovsky❞.

He smirks as he returns to the drinking zone, hearing the girl with bangs complain about him and his crappy personality. He hears his kind-of-twin agreeing with her, maybe just to chill her out and to not cause her to scream for a manager. He passes the order to the bartenders and stops one of his mates.

❝Who’s the guy with Ebony and Ellie? You know, Aster and Kotku’s friends❞.

❝I heard he’s new around. Mike? Mike or something, from Bony’s creative writing class, from a small dirty town from Indiana, just the type of guy she simps for❞, spills the tea, grabbing his ordered drinks before leaving.

Mike, a common name and a writer. He knows three or five things about writers, not good things, they tend to be emotional messes and intense, he dated one for a week. And he noticed the small things like touching hands and giggling about stupid things, Ebony had a massive crush on this boy and he felt sorrow for his not-twin. But, again, not his problem at all, he’s just a waiter.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

Well, this didn’t turn out well. And when he refers to “didn’t turn well” is because it didn’t.

❝For God’s sake, Boris, you and your damn mind❞, he heard Evander mumble, as he screams trying to reach the runaway boy.

But things were fine in the morning. He arrived earlier to have a decent breakfast, three vodka with a ham bagel, and to organize old Beverly and Marina’s written songs. Of course, he could have cleaned at least, they left everything dirty from their late night party, Bev left her magazines on the floor, he left his bottles and Marina candy wraps; then he received Cherry’s message, she was coming over and the rest was bringing Richie and his roommate.

He almost died because of choking on his drink, and certainly was having a small heartattack of all the sentences in his head turning around the word “charmed” over and over again. He needed to breathe and relax, to focus on other things like one of Bevvie's magazine page opened in a meet gala topic, or Marina’s love for Jolly Ranchers and how they need to stop her for spending their money in many packs.

But he heard Tozier’s voice introducing the place, he looked up and he got the same feeling stuck on his throat. Those hickory eyes, dazzling copper brown hair, he could affirm it glows when the sun touches it, and he really never saw Pinterest to have ideas for good outfits because he looked kind of helpless. But not in a bad way, more like a philosophy student when they shower.

He put himself in the role, his name’s Boris and they met before.

He could see he was uncomfortable with his approach, a gift to make people feel they want to run; and although he continued with his proud persona, annoying him, even disrespecting him with some intense american-bannable words, this americano, Will never yielded. Not after he messed with Richie (as he does) and his boyfriend.

He discovered William quite empathic and courageous when it came to friends.

But, boy, when he started to sing, he left him incapable of speaking. His voice was as he remembered, powerful, enchanting, like being under a tender warm spell. Evander was right when he said he resembled more or less to Conan’s tone.

But then, like a magic spell that brokes, Will Byers runs away after he welcomes him to the band, after he clearly bothered him. He’s lost there, maybe it was too much for him, but Will was the one who set up the standard, and he just followed it. It wasn’t his fault, right?

❝He’ll be alright, don’t worry, I knew you really liked him❞, Mari messes with his hair trying to make him feel comfortable again.

❝I really did❞.

He really did. He hopes to meet him again, even if it’s for a moment.

(And they meet again, not so far away, and they make their peace. Boris can’t feel more joy than the day he met Theodore Decker).

Chapter Text

так
adjective ; RUS
Said to end a conversation, it has two meanings: “at least we know this doesn’t have a point” for desist and “yes, fine, okey” in mutual understanding.

❝Are you sure of this?❞

Well, Boris wasn’t sure of many things in life. Like, he wasn’t sure if he ate expired chicken nuggets this morning, or if losing the first two lectures was a good idea since they seem to be pretty important for the future pop quiz and if he did right by rewatching all night Alice in Borderland instead of doing homework. But, like right now… he’s also not sure.

❝Yes, you know the Lambrini too, Vishnya, rich and his daughter very specific. If Kotku got us this ticket, we need to take it❞, replies, messing with her by stealing some of bacon from her plate.

They were at his kind-of-picked-up place, eating in the kitchenette counter scrambled eggs with fried bacon and boxed orange juice. She sighs, he knows she’s worried about the party ending well for them, but he has this thing called “hope” that sometimes knocks at his heart-door and seems it’s there now. Also, she’s like that since he can remember her, always worrying about them, Joe and him, even in highschool she would make them lunch and verify they brought it, with those happy messages in sticky notes.

❝Fine, you win this time❞, she finally says, serving more juice for them, ❝but we need to tell the others about it. I can talk face-to-face with Evan and Bev❞.

❝I take care of Byers, don’t worry, Mari❞.

❝And Borya❞, she calls him, with a soft lower voice, not normal in her. He stops eating his crunchy bacon to pay attention, ❝mom is wondering if you’re coming to Joe’s dinner, I mean, the executive dinner, you know, what his company makes every year❞.

Joseph’s dinners. Quite sure he doesn’t want him there after their last fight when they almost ended in jail because of making the other bleed. But yes, Donna must want him there if she is asking for his presence, unfortunately, it isn’t Donna’s choice, it is Joe's and Boris knows the answer on first instance. So, he denies, even if it isn’t what Marina wanted.

❝You know your brother doesn’t want me there and, even if your mom wants me there…❞

❝Our brother, Boris, our mother❞, she corrects. 

As if he belonged there after all this time. As if he was still part of the Berryfield’s family after he made such terrible decisions and broke their golden heart. Sometimes he forgets Mari was holding, still holding onto the idea of their “family”, something that isn’t and wasn’t true. He clears his throat.

❝What I mean is that Joseph doesn’t want me there and we know, Mari❞, repeats slowly in other words. Better words for her and to not start a verbal fight with no sense, ❝The last thing I want to do is pissed off more Joe❞.

❝I know ❞, she whispers in a delusional tone he knows of her, ❝but, maybe you can try, we can talk to him one more time❞.

❝He has done enough for getting my ass off jail for a third time, Cherry Pie. Don’t test that man’s limits. так❞.

She remains silent. He knows he wins this time, for Marina’s disgust, and for his own safety. 

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

Boris has this way of sneaking into other people's houses pretty easily. He knows how to open bolts with hair-pins and lockpicks, walk on many surfaces without making a sound and almost learnt how to get away with a murder. But, this time, he wasn’t entering as if he was going to rob an apartment. He just needed to knock, and Richie’s tired face popped up on the door frame.

❝Is early dumb-ssie, what on earth do you want?❞, asked the small-fucked-up-town boy. His hair was a messy birds’ nest and he can assume he has dried drool on his cheek. 

❝I need to talk to William for something, let me in. I promise to make breakfast… I bring stuff❞, replied, showing the grocery plastic bags as he enter. He brought things to make his famous oladkys, ❝What, Totzier?❞

❝Jesus Christ. You do as you please. I’m gonna take a shower, Will sure will wake soon, don’t burn the kitchenette❞.

He left him unsupervised, he was lucky Boris learnt how to cook and not burn the kitchens while living with the Berryfield, so he knows how to manage himself there. Prepare the mix, heat up the pan and put the coffee machine on. When he heard someone getting out of his room, he rightly assumed he was Will and greeted, almost getting punched on his stomach if his reflexes didn’t help him. 

❝Jesus, chill, american-o, it’s me❞.

❝Fuck, Boris, you almost scared the shit out of me❞, heard in reply.

He shared the news of Paulette’s party with joy, highlighting all the good things of being invited, from the free food to the people in fancy clothes, just to fall down his cloud when Will remarked on the bad of missing and messing up in a rich girl’s party. Yes, he didn’t think this through very well, but things are done and they can’t say “no” now. 

❝Worry too much, just chill Will, we’re gonna be fine. We got Marina on our side❞, explains calm, eating more.

❝He’s kind of right, Marina’s brother has many contacts that he managed to get Boris out of jail four times❞, reminds the nerd with glasses. Just being wrong in the times Joe brought him out of jail, but he’s going to nod to make sure they have back up. ❝And when is the party?❞

❝The next Friday it says❞, answered the light-haired boy, taking another bite to his meal, ❝okay, I’m in❞.

❝You didn’t have another choice, my american-o. так❞, replied the aussie with a bright smile.

They finished and cleaned up, also, Richie invited him to a movie marathon of sci-fi movies he had to watch for a report. He spent his morning, afternoon and noon eating popcorn, fries and watching things like Matrix or Back to the Future. 

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

He didn’t believe, or better thought, he didn’t expect to have another encounter with his second kind of twin brother while doing groceries with Marina for his place and The Cabin. He was arguing with her about no more Jolly Ranchers on the place when they turned in the alcohol’s section, where there was Miss Ellie Bunmi with him, the smalltown boy, Mike Wheeler.

❝Ellie-chu!❞, the girl with dark-brown hair shouted to the reddish-brown hair girl that was looking at the whiskeys. She received a big hug from her, almost falling in laughs, ❝though you moved The Bronx with your boyfriend!❞

❝I was going to, but we decided we wanted to meet other people, you know how flirty are the latinos❞, answered arrogantly, giving a death look to Boris, because he knew that his ex boyfriend wasn’t as flirty as she painted. In fact, she was the one who cheated on him, ❝what brings you here to Central Harlem, darling?❞

❝Boris and I are doing groceries for his place and our band place❞, Mari replied, showing the basket full of many things of their list, ❝Boris wants a vodka bottle, you know him❞.

❝I’m still behind, Cherry Pie❞.

❝Boris addictions still the same I see. I’m just here to buy bottles for Ebony’s reunion and, oh! You didn’t meet him before❞, exclaims Ellie when she remembered there was a boy behind here stucking on their supermarket cart two whiskey bottles, ❝meet the future promise of tragic romance novels, Michael Wheeler! He’s from Hawkins❞, the green-eyed girl shake her hand with the named, happy to meet new people.

❝Like Will!❞

❝You know Will?❞ is the first thing that came out of his not-twin, quite impressed, like the world was a tiny snow globe of those cheap souvenirs’ shops.

❝Of course we knew him! Is Beverlie’s friend roommate and our friend❞, she made a pause and Boris looked better at them. They were really in fancy clothes for a party full of drinks and maybe illegal drugs. Ellie in a sequined dress and this Mike guy with a letter jacket with many political pins, ❝and well, Boris liked him❞.

He flushed, looking pissed off at his friend before snorting because anything he could reply would be used in a bad way against him. Of course he likes William, he’s a fine boy and has this powerful voice, that’s the reason why is in the band and is his kind-of friend in the first place. Stop looking at him with those eyes, girls! He could also feel a death stare from the other guy here.

❝Boris liking someone? That’s impressive❞.

❝I don’t need to hate every person I meet Bunmi. Besides…❞, he coughs to make them stop looking at him son intense, ❝he’s someone nice to have around❞.

❝More than Theo?❞

❝Don’t get yourself on danger zone, Ellie Bunmi❞, replied immediately.

❝So, is he your friend?❞ was the second thing his not-twin said, asked in an upset, delusional and intrigued tone.

Boris looked weird at him, what was the matter if they were friends? All this was because of his addictions of sniffing cocaine and drinking vodka as water?  His addictions were never passed to others since Las Vegas, even when he sees Marina drinking, he always makes sure it has a little of alcohol and Evan is on her side, or when Bev wanted to try marijuana, he was there to control and stop her in the moment he knew she had enough. But everyone decided on their own, not because he said so. Boris adjusts his dark gray hoodie.

❝Yes, he is. What if he is?❞

❝That’s great to hear! Aster says that opposites attract each other and, for what I’m hearing, you must be❞, cuts their possible verbal fight the reddish-brown hair girl, putting between the two of them, ❝I just hope you don’t bring him to your dark side❞.

He had a bit of enough.

❝My dark side? Like if I could introduce every person I meet to MDMA or vodka, like how your uncle induced your highschool friends to buy him junk, didn’t he do that? It’s not my type of work being as stupid as ❛forged work❜ people and their condescendence. так❞.

It might look like he despites Ellie Bunmi and her family. Maybe he hated his uncle for stealing him good sales in junior years, but even if Ellie was annoying and classist, he didn’t hate her intensely. But she crossed the line again and if she can do it, then he will step two steps more above. She didn’t reply, she looked pissed off while grabbing their things and leaving them with some goofy excuse. 

❝You went a bit too far❞, Marina told him.

❝You call that ❛a bit❜? Mister Freak went fucking far❞, was the third and last thing his not-twin said, turning to leave them. 

Marina sighed, obviously disappointed with him, and with her friend’s words. So she didn’t tell him to apologize at that moment.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

❝Are you sure you aren’t having ❛love feelings❜ for Will?❞ was a question Perkins spited out a day before the great day of the party. They were on The Cabin’s couch, they bought new on sale clothes, Evan something to accompany Mari in a 70’s style and Boris something better for Fashion Disaster Zirka. ❝Don’t put those eyes on me, is a genuine question❞.

❝Is the foolish question I ever heard out of your mouth❞ was his reply, folding the clothing he bought, a yellow tee and a denim jacket, ❝first, what makes you think that? Second, why?❞

Evan stopped folding his own colorful and brightful t-shirt, perhaps pretending to wonder why he thought that and said it out loud. Evan wasn’t his favorite group member, he was in his junior and senior years the stereotype of “dog friend” who chased Marina since he noticed, he hated him trying and then desisting when clearly Cherry felt the same way. Those idiots in love drag him nuts for a while. Also, Evan clearly doesn't respect him for selling junk and using it.

❝Well, unfortunately I know you and I can tell that even when you pretend you don’t care for many things, you have your own ways to demonstrate you actually care and you aren’t a fucked up person. For example, how you pretend you hate Richard, maybe you hate him a little, but were the first of us to defend him for assholes❞.

He remembers when people were bullying Tozier for some bad puns and his notebook full of cat post-its because that was a way for him to remember things. They call him bad names Boris used before, but he felt like they didn’t have the right to harass his ADHD stupid boy. Of course even if Richie was a fool, annoying, clueless, hyperactive and had bizarre focus times, still was Bev’s friend, a known person (not like he thinks of him as a friend too).

❝You act in your role of ❛Lead Bitch❜ with Will, but you really want to become close to him. Even Marina notices this: you feel more real when he’s around than in all the time we’ve known you❞ was the response.

It felt odd when he heard it so unexpectedly, like if it was an untold secret that suddenly got out of his mind and everybody knew, and it crashed with the other thought on his mind, the one he is constantly hiding even from himself that has Theo’s name and coffee smell on it. 

The day finally came, the party started pretty fine. Will and him arrived a bit late, but when they began to play, everything turned alright, people enjoyed them, they complimented Will’s voice when they took his recess, Marina and Beverly’s talent, and his own talent of beat the strings with euphoria. The party was great until the host’s couple were a total jerk and fought over a phone call with the lady, leaving her miserable. As if Misfits’ God wasn’t working that night to give them good luck. 

Defeated by the feeling of not succeeding in playing all the songs, they were about to return to The Cabin, maybe drink something and complain about that dickhead who ruined their play, when he turned to Will, silently thinking about something it brought back Evan’s question.

❝You feel more real when he’s around❞

❝We need to sing the last song❞, hears the soft voice of Will, his Will’s voice when something most feel salty on his tongue, everyone puts his eyes on him, but he’s looking at him, ❝she doesn’t deserve to cry on her party, not for a douchebag❞.

He lets that young boy be, to sing that song they wrote with Bev over band-breaks, it didn’t have a title and William has just baptized it for a crying poor stranger mad with her couple. It felt like something he had to know since the start, and he knew it, even Evan knew, it was related with the idea of being “charmed” by him, and accepting that in fact, like Taylor said, he was enchanted to meet him. 

❝𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶...❞

He looked at his principal voice in a complete haze of feelings, joy and sadness, singing from the deep of his inside, because he was like that, caring for even strangers and their feelings, for make them feel comfortable and not a burden, Will was so empathetic and kind that he could be a boy in sugar or the honey in a pack of pancakes. They connect their eyes, he sees those hickory-brown eyes and it sounds loud on his mind.

❝𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶
(𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶)❞

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

She raised her eyebrow confused, because when she thinks of someone having doubts about life decisions, she didn’t see herself as the first person to attend to share them as expecting a reasoned response. More if it was Boris the one with a doubt thinking she is the better person to tell problems and to expect a reasoned response, when he was also someone you don’t expect to bring a question and had a good answer. Kotku is worried right now.

❝If you are asking for an advice, you must be so fucked up with your problem. Speak❞.

❝Well. I think I might be slowly falling in love with my new principal vocalist, you know, Richie’s roomie, William Byers❞.

❝Okay, this is fucked up❞, she remarks, looking son worried to him. ❝William isn’t only Richie’s friend, he is Ebony’s crush friend, his new crush, the writer with a well amount of money who can ruin your reputation more than you ruin it yourself. I heard he is friend with April ❛Gossiper❜ so…❞

❝Wheeler?❞, questioned, receiving an affirmative nod, ❝For Misfits’ God sake, I do not care for him or his opinions about me, he can say shit about me, but he can’t take away myself or my band so easily. Will is old enough to decide if he believes him or not. In other hand, what I’m worried about is for me, me in love is a disaster❞.

❝Yes, you ❛in love❜ is the disaster, like when we were together, you almost lost chemistry for skipping class to pass my free hours with me❞, she reminds him, making him hide his face on the table, he remembers too and it was horrendous, ❝but, maybe this time is good❞.

❝How can it be good!?❞

She laughs, a bit loud, but she’s laughing about him, mocking and he kind of wants to understand what is so funny about his genuinely concerned question.

❝Is different for your lil’ crush on me or your massive toxic crush for Theo. Does he make you want to leave your studies?❞

❝No❞.

❝Does he make you feel bad? Alone? Does he make you feel unwanted sometimes?❞

❝No, stop the stupid questions❞.

❝They aren’t, them take me to my point, Will is nothing like I was or like Theodore Decker, your picture of him and the real Theo is. Will sounds warm, and a good guy too, maybe not your style but that makes it more good, maybe he’s your Tessa❞.

❝One, don’t ever fucking use After’s analogies with me❞, she sighs. Boris forgets she enjoyed those trashy books and that is a huge massive red flag for her, but they stopped to touch that point when she almost stabs his hand one time. ❝Two… maybe you are right❞.

Will was something completely different from his past love interests. He wasn’t quirky, drug addict, helpless and trashy like Kotku, or smartass, intense, narcissistic and selfish like Potter. Nor even like the heavy metal, junkie, sarcastic, persuasive and realistic Pavlikovsky. It doesn’t mean he had to confess those feelings, he can save them with other bullshit and expect them to vanish soon. He can’t obsess over someone new at this point.

❝In other matters, I heard you say some trues to your lovely ex girlfriend, Bunmi. No wonder now why the two Bunmi siblings hate you❞.

❝Don’t get me started. Ellie was being a bitch and his brother is a bitch too, every majorist in Creative Writing is❞.

так.

Chapter Text

Tagliare la corda
expression ; ITA
“sneak away”.

He wonders, all the fucking time, if his mother took folic acid pills when she was pregnat, because he can’t relate other thing about why he’s such a dumb ass bitch. Of course he makes bad decisions since he’s alive, breathing, wondering about his mental capacities.

Like, how he manages to make enemies from anywhere and his last check was Tom Rogan, Beverly’s crush, a disrespectful son of a motherfucker bitch.

He doesn’t, can’t and won’t understand the whole thing his friend saw in that toxic douchebag, nor like he can say something about it without biting his own toxic tongue. And he believes in the classical liberal principal of laisser faire, translate to “let it be”; if someone wants to fuck their life, they have the right to do so.

But he draws a line in how much that guy can fully talk about himself.

❝You never shut up?❞, he dared to ask when he had the opportunity.

Obviously, he shouldn’t have said that, because Rogan left, even when the ginger started running behind him trying to make him come back. But, Lord should’ve mercy on him, he was getting tired of listening to rich vacations and hangouts he didn’t ask to listen.

The second point is when it comes to Kotku’s friends: Ellie and Ebony.

He has obvious reasons to hate her and her to hate him, he doesn’t blame anyone for it, he’s an asshole at those days playing with her feelings and fucking her older brother at same time. Ebony on other hand, it’s a harder problem, he doesn’t know how to put it in better words.

But he liked the Trouble Maker Aster Santori. He actually met her first from the girly trio, when she bought him junk, when she hadn’t dyed her hair green and used to wear those creamy color leg warmers. Both attend the school’s music workshop, and she introduced him to her friends.

He enjoys Aster’s presence, she was the least plastic from The Cheap Plastics, so it isn’t weird to him to see the dyed-green girl coming from time to time to hang out for lunch or smoke. He usually has prepared a fruit punch Capri-Sun for her when she comes.

❝I’m throwing a party at mine at the weekend, what do you think?❞, she asks when she arrives, sitting down on the bench he is.

❝Sounds great, are you asking me to come?❞, inquiries, rearranging his seated body with his notebook, finishing some notes and activities he had on waiting.

❝I’ll like you to, to all of you. Invite Mari, Mari’s bf, Bev, Rich…❞, she stops for a minute, making him turn to her, ❝Ellie said you have a new friend, Bill?❞

❝Oh, yeah, William, he’s my vocalist. I must assume Bunmi and Crawford are going to❞.

❝You know I can not invite them, they are my friends since freshmen❞, argues, crossing her legs, ❝so, just come, please, you know how to turn up parties with your band friends, you need a break too❞.

❝I’ll think about it, Grinchy❞. The girl gives him a playful slap, making him laugh too. He has to fix the thing with Rogan first if she wants Beverly Marsh at her party.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

The Cabin has been a safe place since they got it, even with trash around the floor that he’s too lazy to pick up, it’s soundproof, it has an old-fashioned couch to rest, he keeps his guitars there (the electric one and the acoustical), and that’s all he needs. He just takes one of the guitars and forgets the world outside exists.

Because he’s good at forgetting, and everyone seems to know. Or he could be if he wasn’t such a big liar. Because he didn’t forget easily, and for that reason, he doesn’t know how to properly move on.

He wondered that maybe it was because he’s his mother’s son, because he doesn’t remember easily forgetting one of his father’s traits and he doesn’t remember his mom quite well, so he puts the blame on her when he had nowhere else to put it.

But, even if a hypothetical case were she’s alive when he was still a kid, it wouldn't change much of the life he lived. His old man talked crap about her, just a tool to let the man have it, nothing more, and with her also alcoholic background, she wouldn’t have been of those moms who put lunch for her children or kiss their bruises nor told them they’re loved.

And he wouldn’t mind, because at least she would be there.

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯
𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦

He sometimes wishes to remember a bit more of her, not only the things his father said of the broken photos of her curly long hair and hazel eyes he lost when his father left him. He never said it out loud, but he’s jealous back then about Mari and Joe’s relationship with their parents, how they would bring them their favorite treats and buy them things they liked, just because they’re their children. And even if they did the same with him, it wasn’t the same. He isn’t their child, he isn’t Donna’s biological son, he was an intruder like Joe said back then.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦,
𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦,
𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦

And he ached for a family for years, even for pity. Even if Marina wants him to jump again into her family life, the last thing Boris needs is to remind them he’s an outsider, an outcast.

He distracts himself from those thoughts, rethinking about his crush on Will, who has the height of a sharp needle. It was odd to think all his strong crushes appeared when he was changing somehow. Kotku was the kinda punk girl who just felt as lonely as him, who taught him how love can be pretended and how he ached for a meaning.

Then, there’s Theo…

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸
𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘝?
𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧
𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦…

Them. Two paragraphs of the same song, one meant to follow the other, to complement, but never to last longer than a moment. Theo became a hard-to-swallow topic, the same reason why he avoids talking about him, the same reason why he hasn’t stepped on The Goldfinch since a while. Their love’s odd, unfair, they’re the other’s nail, two boys meeting because they needed a friend and, even with the sorrow around them, manage to fall in love with the lonely sunsents.

He writes love songs to bring back the memories of happiness seeking validation on his friend’s eyes with alcohol and drugs. He writes sad songs to mourn his lost friendship. He writes hate songs because he hates himself for letting down Theodore.

[...]
𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯
'𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦,
𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦,
𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

And he’s the problem anywhere he goes. He can’t be Will’s problem too.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦.
𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮.

The door’s suddenly opened, almost scaring him to death, it was Perkins with his Canson.

❝Guess who’s gonna go out with your crush for a photo session on Wednesday?❞, asks as if the answer wasn’t on the question.

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮,
𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮,
𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

When he comes back to Richie and Will’s apartment on Friday (after almost choking Evan with his hands on Tuesday, having a girls out with her little ones on Wednesday and not failing a pop quiz on Thursday) and after Rich and his boyfriend Eddie told him were he was, he didn’t expect another sarcastic encounter with his not twin Mikhail.

The day was as normal as it can be in his life, except that he’s happy, happier than ever. He accepted Aster’s invitation to her party and told the others, expecting to tell Will; Bev got to bring Tom too, so they could talk and forget he screwed up.

He entered the cafe, embraced by the hot coffee and muffins aroma, looking for his Conan Gray until he spotted him, moving awkwardly in his seat while Ebony’s crush was talking.

❝On bespokoit vas, zirka?❞, dared to ask to interrupt.

Then everything went down a hill, all of them went. He hadn’t crossed more than a few words with Wheeler since the supermarket day, when he gave it to him because he went far with Bunmi. But in those moments he changed his mind. Mike’s a nasty bitch, nosy, insufferable, narcissistic at a point he doesn’t understand why Crawford loves him. He didn’t hit the bowels out of him because Will was there too.

He HATES Mike Wheeler, he complains on Saturday’s Cabin Breakfast with his members minus Will.

❝He’s a moron, a douchebag and a mouthbreather, I can’t stand him no more❞, argues, stabbing his sunny eggs with hatred.

❝You sound really pissed off, soviet, he didn’t even punch you or insult you without a reason, chill out❞, cuts Evander after a long time of hearing him talk and talk.

❝Shut up, layno, he’s insufferable and I don’t want that drama queen near us❞.

Marina breaks the tension with a loud laugh behind Bev’s, both laughing, bumping the table, trying to not fall from the couch or dump their food.

❝Oh my God, so sorry, but you sounded very jealous of Mike❞, speaks taking a deep breath, trying to calm down, ❝somebody’s jealous❞, she chants.

❝I’m not! Bev❞, Boris’ exclaims.

❝You sounded like a jealous girlfriend❞, the mentioned explains.

Boris squeaks and leaves the topic. He can’t fight with them because of his messy feelings. It’s best for him to look out for his Amazon’s purchase of a yellow motorcycle helmet.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

Dumb Tom Rogan, dump femme fatale Beverly Marsh, dumb Will Byers, dumb Marina, dumb Evan, dumb Boris, dumb, dumb Pavlikovsky. He’s sure the voice inside his head right now saying “dumb” on repeat is from his father, why did he think Rogan would talk to him in the first place as if he was the priority? His priority is fucking Marsh somewhere, when he approached later, like he said, he wasn’t to be found.

And he lost Evan in one moment, when someone heavily drunk tried to flirt with Marina and Evan took the matter in his hands. He takes another cup with cheap alcoholic drinks and meets Aster near the living room, on a girl’s lap, chatting about girl things or college stuff.

❝Borya! My favorite Ukrainian boy! Come here, come near, enjoying the party?❞, she asks, dragging the final vowels and syllables.

❝I’m having the time of my life!❞, exclaims in excitement, sitting on the floor near her, ❝already eating dessert?❞

❝Haha! Very funny, where’s the rest of the outcasts?❞

❝Dunno! Bev probably fucking, Evan and Mari together and I lost William, probably also having the time of his life❞.

They chat a little longer until Aster’s party whispers to her ear something probably lustful, a sign for him to leave them alone for a search for more drinks until he can forget how he came there in the first place.

Pure vodka, diluted vodka, fancy cocktails, all the cups on his hands end empty. He was crossing the dance floor to get another orange cocktail when he spotted his vocalist William Byers drunk out of his mind and dancing with a stranger. Sure he was jealous, but he wasn’t planning on doing anything until he saw that stranger’s hands sneaking under his friend’s shirt.

Will sure is lost right now and drunken people don’t give consent.

❝Sorry, pal, my friend needs to calm down❞, intervenes, grabbing Will’s hand and pushing the stranger away.

❝Come on man!❞

❝Sorry, drunk people don’t give consent❞, repeats what he thought, squeezing the other’s hand and giving a death stare that left the guy scared and still.

After pulling Will from that situation, he screamed from the top of his lungs to leave him, making the people stare at him as Boris tried to hold him from kicking the others and seeing them as a kidnapping scene.

❝Jesus fuck, William, it’s me!❞, screams louder than him, holding his cheeks to make him look at him, at his worry face, ❝God, you’re so fucked up. I told Evan not to lost you on sight, but sure he can’t do shit❞.

It’s true, he told Perkins to take care of Mari and Will, but he knows it isn’t his fault for not achieving it but Boris’, he was the one who promised to take care of both of them and ended heavy drinking to numb his anger with Rogan. It is Boris’ fault as always.

Will started talking about deep shit while he brought them to the kitchen to make him an americano to sober him up. He answered to be here for him. They talked about everything. Boris never wondered again, after ending highschool, about sharing secrets with another fucked up person, but they’re here, sharing shit as if it can disappear. When the coffee was ready, he gave it to him.

❝Drink it all, Will, then we should go❞, whispered soft, also drinking coffee he prepared to him.

❝Damn Bev, you’re so–❞

Both turn to the kitchen’s frame. There was her friend, Beverly Marsh, holding her green-with-red-and-blue sweater, with smeared red-eyeliner with Rogan on his side, both of them with clear messy clothes and arguing. He stood in front of Will.

❝Something’s wrong, Bevvie?❞ asks nicely, looking severe at Tom.

❝No, nothing’s wrong, Pavlikovsky, mind your own business❞, answered Rogan, grabbing the redhead by her shoulders. He was going to reply, but Will went ahead.

❝That’s… that’s the most bullshit answer I’ve ever heard and, believe me, believe when I said I heard bullshit before❞, was Will’s comment, getting down from the counter as he could, ❝and sure your brain is stupid ‘cause it is OUR business when you cross our side with our friend crying and goddamn river❞.

❝Wha–? Are you trying to get your ass kick?❞

❝I will like to see you try, I’ve been running and fighting for my life soooo long bitch, like, have you ever been pointed with a silenced pistol?❞, Boris grabbed his hand to avoid the brown-hair boy to do something by hand, Bev and him looking Tom’s mad face. ❝What were you thinking? ❛I’m a guy and I’ll get my way❜ shit? That’s pretty pathetic❞.

❝I’m– I don’t care of your nonsense! Beverly is a fucking whore and she knows it, if you can’t see that it’s not my problem❞.

Bev shared a look with him, both of them panicking and thinking how to stop a sure fight.

❝You have a sharp tongue❞, Will said before putting the edge of a kitchen knife on Rogan’s chin, scaring him because he didn’t notice when Will grabbed it with his freed hand ❝apologize and I might not cut your throat, I know how to, I know, Hop taught me how to❞.

❝Oh my God, what the–!?❞

❝Apo-lo-gize❞, repeated, making aside from the raven-hair boy and embedding a bit the knife, causing Rogan to scream high-pitched, ❝apologize and I let you free❞.

❝I apologize! Sorry Beverly!❞. Will let the stabbing weapon fall, time when Tom ran from there the fastest he had seen someone run from the devil.

Will turned to Boris, to Beverly, shaking his head before grabbing to the counter.

Of course Will’s still drunk, no one in all his senses would do what he did. Beverly looked at his worried eyes, this is the sign to grab the brown-haired boy from his shoulders and push him to get the hell out of there. He called Marina, and when she didn’t answer, left a message that he was going back to his place with a drunk William Byers in his hands.

He saw the exit, they’re almost there when another obstacle appeared with the face of Bony Miss Perfect and his Not Twin. He isn’t longer calm enough to deal with them in a decent way.

❝Will? Shit, shit, this is bad. Get your hands off him❞, demanded the black-hair boy with dark-brown eyes; he obviously stood between them when he had the idea of steal the man, ❝didn't you hear me? Get off, Pavlikovsky! He needs help!❞

❝I’m helping! You are also quite drunk and enjoying Bony’s company so much to care❞, spitted, severe eyes on them, grabbing Will’s hand, feeling him trembling, ❝move, Mikhail❞.

❝Boris, Mike’s worried, don’t be such a prick and let him help❞, Ebony defends.

❝Mind your business, Crawford, now move or I'm moving both❞.

❝To mind my own business? Listen me clear you cossack, he's my friend, more specific, my best friend❞, Mike said slowly, tapping to his chest in every word, ❝he can say that he doesn’t mind you being a problematic alcoholic junkie, but I’m not him and I do have a problem with you being around him pretending to be his friend. He can like the rockstar martyr idea of you, but I hope I to make myself clear, I won’t let you get your way with him as if you knew him all your life❞.

❝You can't think that too❞. Boris felt Will’s hand squeezing. He whispered his words, as if he was afraid of being heard, but everyone heard that. Ebony hold Wheeler’s arm, ❝Mike, you can't❞.

❝Will, shit, are you–?❞

❝Don't fucking ❛Will❜ me, Michael. I'm completely done with your pity watered eyes everytime I’m angry at you, excusing yourself and giving me those damn puppy eyes to forgive you. I’m mad at you❞, he doesn't even look up, he perceives he can’t look up without crying, ❝You treated me since back from Hawkin’s Lab as if I am about to break, how I didn’t notice it? How stupid of me❞.

❝But– Will, you… aren’t we fine?❞, asks in reply Wheeler./p>

❝Well, we aren't! If you claim to be my best friend you would know it! But forget it Mike! You are never sorry for the things you do, you just don’t care enough!❞

❝I fucking care! It's not my fault you can't let go!❞

Boris is finished to this point, he just slaps Mike Wheeler, open palm, the hardest he had ever slapped someone since a long time ago. He hears the soft low sobs from Byers, thick tears falling down at the party.

❝Right, I can’t let go all, can I? I can’t, I just can’t and it is frustrating. But you already knew that no matter how hard I try to get the shit clear in my head it can’t be, it never is, so I can’t let go what’s freakin’ fuzzy❞

❝Will❞.

Will gave the second hit on the night, slapping the other Wheeler’s cheek.

He pulled them through the rest of the journey to his motorbike, hardly trying to stop those tears and whispering “sorrys” to him. William wouldn’t remember all, but Boris held onto his trembling hand.

❝You were brave enough Will, I’m proud of you❞, he told at every “sorry”.

Will was stronger than he thought.

Chapter Text

Забити на щось
v. imperf ; UA
means “to bail or give up on something”.

His “perfect” night wasn’t him carrying a half dead weight up the stairs of his building complex because the elevator isn’t working yet, listening to its medium coherent talking explanation about magic characters from that Dragons’ nerd game shit and it assuring he’ll explain it better later so all their friends can play later on. It wasn’t coming back from a party so soon (at 12:00 a.m.) to make an almost blacked out friend puke on his dirty bathroom, to undress him with no more intentions than change him and put him to sleep so he could then pass out on the dusty couch.

Yes, this isn’t what he calls a “good night”, but Boris never has perfect days.

He changes Will’s clothes to his comfiest, a second-handed Go_A tee and joggers someone left to never come back for them. He takes those shoes, throws him into his bed and covers him with the blueish sheets.

❝Night, Will❞, he whispers, turning back to leave. A hand clutches to his fingers, making him look back to the boy looking at him, ❝You need to sleep❞, remarks.

❝I don’t want to be alone❞, understands from his babbling.

He’s cruel, but how can he be with those dazzling eyes on his, making him feel so little and helpless? He huffs before taking the chair of his desk to sit near the bed.

❝I’m here, zirka, you aren’t alone❞, replies.

❝You won’t leave me, will you?❞

❝I won’t, I’m here❞.

❝Thank you, Borya❞. A little smile sneaks from his star’s face, it makes him return the gesture more brightly, ❝do you… do you believe in soulmates?❞

Boris chokes a bit.

❝Where is that coming from? Are you three, William?❞, askes joking.

❝Maybe I am, it matters?❞.

Boris pretends to think about it, he even stirs the other’s locks to friendly bother.

❝I do believe there’s people that look like they were meant to each other, but soulmates aren’t real. Now sleep❞.

❝I do believe in them❞, he responds, playing with his fingers, with Boris’ hands, locking hands and giggling like a teenage girl, ❝even if they aren’t alike, soulmates doesn’t need to be alike. Just be, don’t you think so? Soulmates just being❞.

He didn’t reply, Byers’ eyes closed soon after, in seconds he listened to the light snoring of his sleeping star.

But the question got stuck on him, a simple lyric for soulmates just being, a wondering of their existence simplified in whether fated love existed or not.

The lingering question is if he even believes in them. He’s aware of the complicated existence of love itself, in many presentations for taste and embrace, many reasons, motives and wonders. He believes there’s people like Evan and Mari who look or are meant to be because life says they have to, but also people brave enough to love out of line and out of any other word like Richie and his boyfriend, and confused people falling apart where love isn’t enough like Bev.

He does believe in love, but fated love sounded cheap, because souls searching themselves countless times was so good to be true. And people that looked like soulmates could never be together. People just search for simple love.  Perhaps, souls just search that too without bothering on fate. Quoting Will, just being.

But love drags him to his own pity where he gave up on that a long time ago, incapable of healing what’s broken inside his heart, the loneliness and narcissistic persona that does what he apparently wants but never what he really wants. He learnt to love how he could, he loves how he knows, and yet he fails to avoid his own disastrous thoughts.

He knows he doesn’t deserve love, even if he has it or wants it, he doesn’t.

Just for this little smalltown bitch name William Byers decided unconsciously to put feet inside his life and drag him to the edge of falling in dependance for happiness when knows he needs to stop depending on others. But, Lord should have mercy on him, Will’s the brightest star he had ever met, and if one of his stars fades again he would fade with him.

The sleepy called “starboy” moves in his dreams, making him come back to reality.

❝𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶❞, softly sung, caressing his hair, ❝𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶❞.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯',
𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰.
𝘐'𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬,
𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯' 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.
𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳
𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯' 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯е𝘸...

❝𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶❞, he looks how the brown-haired boy calms again.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

It was obvious that Will would wake up clueless about the night before, so, he took the job of taking care of them the morning after, waking up Richie to ask him what he could make for breakfast and ordering politely Evander to pick him up to college (Will doesn’t need to skip college days too). After a quick decision of what he had to make and actually making a meal, he heard the door of his bedroom opening.

❝Hum? Oh, you’re awake now! Sit down, zirka, I’m making us toast with avocado. You like avocado, right? Riche told me you did❞, replies when he came to the kitchen counter.

Yeah, he had to explain in a few words the things he made while drunk and high. He saw that tired peaceful sleepy face become a bright embarrassed strawberry red one and shortly after to one who wanted to kill himself. 

❝I am so stupid Boris❞.

❝Well, of course you were, but it was yesterday. Today is a new day to make more wrong decisions and learn from them, so eat you breakfast before Evan arrives❞.

But he felt relieved that Will didn’t ask for more details, maybe the shame being more powerful than the curiosity, because if he had asked, he wouldn’t have the guts to explicitly tell him how he tried to cut Rogan’s jugular vein and howl the shit out of the smalltown writer. He didn’t want that more affliction in that poor head.

He was a bit surprised when he decided to star (a point to the rebelliousness of Will Byers!) and a bit grumpy when he obliged him to clean up his mess instead of leaving him doing his own thing (organizing the bags of his rack, which he was doing happily), but too tired to fight over it, he brought out the cleaning stuff to start with the task of leaving the apartment sparkling, or at least decent.

He swept, Will mopped, both dusted off the furniture… and they got to the photos on the hallway.

The main reason why he never deeply cleaned this pigsty, the broken photo frames, the scratched ripped pictures, the things he tried but can’t forget.

❝Why did you scratched them?❞, dares Will to ask.

Although he answered he didn’t know and he didn’t matter, he knew, it mattered. Many of them in fact broken from his maniatic episodes with his junk, a few from depressive feral moments, and just a specific photo broken because of something more serious than the rest. His first band photo, with the first members of his band, which include Evander and Mari but not Bev. He could close his eyes, but he couldn’t picture how all went, Mari’s screams, Evan weeps, his own breathing lowering with the sirens echoing, sometimes he could even smell the bloodstains on the counter and the floor.

One of those things he couldn’t get forgiveness for, one of those cuts that always bleed.

❝Of course it matters. They’re yours, your photos, something you decided to kept even like that, even after you broke them because they mattered❞, because he couldn’t manage to hear them scream while taking them off, he can’t but he’s doing it this time without an escape. ❝What about this one? Why Carel Fabritius’ Goldfinch?❞

❝It’s just a reminder❞.

❝For what?❞

❝That I’m a liar❞.

Another of those old wounds that is still black and bruised, the last thing that connects him to his past, to Theodore Decker. How can he throw away the last memory of his joy in Las Vegas? The last thing that remained from him, from the things he doesn’t like to remember but can’t help to do, how could he? Those distant days had the most beautiful of the sunsets reflected in Theo’s blue eyes and hundreds of nights full of tales whispered into his ears. A life that remained as an old promise he couldn’t keep.

He could be a liar, a trickster, but that, that was the last of his truths.

Then again Will appears, saying things he doesn’t need to mean but really means, words his heart always longed and ached to listen to. Because when life is a lemon tree that doesn’t give any lemons is just a pretty bad joke, a joke about how much he wanted to accept to be cared for, about how much he wanted his promises to be held in his shaking hands as if life isn’t that bad with his heart. But it is, it is the worst.

❝I know❞, tries to convince himself he knows he’s cared.

❝You are not alone❞. But he feels alone.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

Life treated him badly again as he didn’t expect to stumble with Phillipa Finch this soon. A moment that always feels breathtaking and makes him want to stop existing when those full-of-life eyes stop on someone, but he never expected less from a full-of-life girl like her. He has seen how Pippa could light up a room without trying hard, alleviating sad people, awkward moments, how she makes him feel unwanted and how she can’t know it.

Boris felt like a big piece of junk on her side (sure he is).

But couldn’t expect less from Theo’s sun and stars tangled on auburn soft curls that fall on her knitted gold cardigan he gave her, with a look on her eyes that every fucked up person wanted on, but was also the ghost that haunted them.

❝Good to see you again! I’ve been waiting for you to step on the café again, I missed you and your quirky sense of humor and…❞. Of course the new yorker girl would say that, she always knew how to bring out the good in everyone she meets, she’d always talk about how much she likes his dark humor. 

❝How’s the business, svitlyak?❞

❝Just a bit saturated, but nothing Theo and I can’t handle. Also, we added oladkys the past week to the menu, you must go and try them, Theo needs an expert third opinion❞, she chants.

❝Sure he’s aren’t as delicious as mine❞.

❝I’m serious Pavlikovsky, you can’t just disappear from one day to another. Even Theo wonders when are you returning to the café or to talk to him. Did you guys fought?❞

They didn’t, or he didn’t think so. Just like normal people who had different strong opinions, they discussed them in a not very polite way and he got them a long time out after they screamed at each other’s faces. Boris said to himself it wasn't, but he doesn’t know how much he can bear to say that to himself.

❝I’ve been just with a lot of work, don’t worry, Pips, hope to visit soon. And we are fine, don’t worry for that too❞.

After Evan’s news, returning to him the peace and even bringing a short happiness, hugging and spinning with his lead singer to fall on the grass of the near park, he thinks he can leave Pipa’s chat behind on his mental-box of “things to not see the light for a while”.

❝She was nice❞.

❝Uhm?❞

❝Pippa, she was nice❞, Will repeats. They’re at the Dunkin Donuts now, the hickory-brown-eyed munching a maple frosted one while he got a classic one, ❝I like her, where did you met a nice girl like her?❞

❝Oi! I can have nice friends❞, the other laughed, he stole a bite of his donut on reply, earning a groan, ❝you deserve it! Pippa is a close friend from another friend, she’s cute, isn’t she? Want her phone?❞

❝No! I just! Ugh, you’re unbearable❞ he pretends to complain, taking a sip of his latte, ❝I just wanted to know, you don’t talk much about other friends❞.

❝Pardon?❞

❝I mean, we talk about friends in common, like our band friends, but you didn’t talk about Aster before we were invited to her party, maybe if that didn’t happened, I wouldn’t know she was your friend❞.

He didn’t know that. This was the first time he thought about it indeed, and he can’t tell he knows the reason for it as much as he doesn’t want to deeply think about it. He just raises his elbows.

❝I don’t know, maybe just a craze❞, answers, taking a sip of his dark coffee.

❝Well, I hope you can visit her soon, she sounded very happy for having you again bothering her❞.

❝I don’t always bother! So rude, William! I need to cut the exposition to Rich’s influence, he’s putting you against me!❞, pretends to sob, winning a slight bump between his eyebrows.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

His eyes opened wide. He read The Hole on a kind of business card.

He shudders, his hands trembling for a bit, he didn’t hope to come back soon to those places, those nasty places where he knew how it feels when God leaves you on your own in front of one of Goetia's demons. He gave a concerned look to her almost sister, she had the worst time of his life down there, humiliations she never spoke about even to this day, things neither Evan nor him knew.

Then he remembers when he ended at The Ditch. The Ditch, another name for another of the Dante’s ring of hell he never wrote, if the light seldom touched The Hole, there wasn’t any type of light on there, a place full of crap where it’s a miracle if it didn’t give you an infection, that smelled like brimstone and yourself rotting, that wounds you badly he got to the point where he has been afraid on syringes since then. But he breaths deep, trying to quiet the noise of his worries to assure his band that this wasn't too much.

❝I know we all know it sounds dangerous, but if you forget, your confident leader knows how the slums work, been there, done that; we aren’t going to a slaughterhouse. The prize worth it❞.

❝Jesus Christ, what prize?❞, asked Will.

❝A ticket for the Orpheus Festival❞, replied Marsh. That was his main target.

The Orpheus Music Festival, a massive event at the Oniric Theater where any kind of band could have a chance to get record signatures with a semi important record label. He heard about it before going out to summer break, and it became his main goal to take his band there, and when Will entered on the scene, he knew he had all set to show their talent and, maybe, earn a feeling of fullness for once.>

❝Ten points to Gryffindor!❞, exclaims.

He couldn’t let down his folks nor him, he needed to plan every single step from the gate to the inside, every arrangement meticulously thought out, all on his showman hands. They had a week to practice their stage poses, to not die there and to not end on The Ditch.

And when the apocalyptic day came, he went ahead, to a location disguised as a healthy bar, trying to calm down his nerves with smoke and two rows of coke to feel that he could eat the world.

They walked all the way down stairs to a huge dark-painted basement with neon lights, hard industrial music blowing the biggest speakers he had seen, all decorated with the smell of cocaine, the warmth of people heating crystal meths and the soft mumbling of heavy moans somewhere. The Hole could be distributed in many ways from each location it had, bigger or smaller, smell more to junk or to sex, but it wouldn’t change the feeling of belonging Boris felt wherever he stepped on its floor, the way it called him as an outcast welcomed by outcasts. A place that now was hostile dragging them to their deadly deaths.

❝Ladies and gentleman! People from all dirty minds!❞, heard from the speakers. Getting on stage made his body shiver with excitement, he forgot how much he feared and loved that freaks’ place that hates freaks. ❝…Give space to our, for a long in a while, losers’ band of the night, you know how it works, if they don’t feed your ambitions, they’re going to THE DITCH!❞

He gulped, scratching his wrists, breathing deep and ignoring the rest to concentrate on only one thing: to not end on The Ditch ever again.

❝Goodnight Hole, is rare to be back, but things happen for some reason, so I hope you can receive us with a warm hug as I was receive long ago… we are The Outcasts, craving our way!❞

He planned all, as the master of an art robbery, every small detail on his hand, he sweetened the people with his voice before giving way to his baritone singer and his soprano, to his body to become one with his constantly slammed electric guitar strings, standing in front of achieving the stealing, playing with all the passion he could had on his body, so inside searching for a little of the acceptance he wanted. 

They gave their voices, their play, their whole strength, their hopes and poured their hearts on that filthy stage surrounded by junk freaks and mobsters to just try to be thrown like an old toy as people chanted to be thrown away.

The voices became a background voice. It felt hot as the inferno, his heart ached, threatening to leave his body, making him wonder if he ws dumb again for underestimating The Hole and his own will to not die yet, but he knew something for real, he wouldn’t leave his people to suffer the way he did. He can leave without trying one more time and again, again until he can't, until he dies.

He’s an outcast after all, outcasts need to crave their way in this world. Inside, he hears that lost song clearly.

𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦,
𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦.

❝One last time❞, whispers to the mic, playing new chords.

𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.

𝘒𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦,
𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥
𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦.

He looked at everyone with the stoic face he could gave, saving his fear for another day and the uncertainty feeling where he was hanging on, because life isn’t pretty for anyone, worst for the ones who hide behind safety curtains, never enough for the ones who, with fear, leave behind and hold with all themselves.

𝘛𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦
𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴
𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦.

Boris might hide from his problems all the time, but this wasn’t the time for it, he screwed with Rogan, he has screwed with Evan, he has screwed with Marina and Joseph and he’s been screwing up with Will as he did long ago with deeply screwing with Theo. He needs to stand for something just one time and it is now.

[...]
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘺
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

𝘖𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

He’ll never know until he tries to leave his safety curtains.

Chapter Text

Yours
pronoun ; US-UK
belonging to or connected with a person or people, someone speaking about what belongs to you.

Boris Pavlikovsky didn’t have huge interesting aspirations, not even after he learnt what the word aspiration meant. His foundation-elementary school years wherever he was born and lived in Australia were just understanding how he wasn’t never to be loved, how he should’ve never existed, an accident. And moving almost every year due to his father’s nasty work of mining that fucks up the planet wasn’t also something that gave him the best of the social skills, adding that the bastard only come home when high or drunk to beat the shit out of him to disappear again, and again. 

His childhood and early teenage years feel funny. Back then, the least of his problems was his father’s behavior or his mother’s absence, himself was an awkward asocial kid condemned to be isolated from other children because their parents didn’t want someone as problematic as him near them, and since he was on his own, he had to learnt how to care of himself (and for his father when he’s at home). But, as a small kid, he tried to improve at least, really trying to get along with the kids until he had enough trying, he became the problem of every school who held him, his father fucked up and they move somewhere new, starting again. 

But even if he tried to run away once living in Ukraine, he always ended up coming back, incapable of being completely on his own somewhere new.

The first time he wanted to feel more than the world burning around him and inside him, was when he met that lonely rude four eye boy on the school bus living in Las Vegas. When he met Theo Decker, when he let him go inside his house and wanted to befriend him. Someone just as broken as him, a small lost boy trying to reach heaven,  just to him to pull him deep into hell. Whom he’d fall with on the concrete turf, trying to reach the distant stars, getting high enough to forget themselves, arguing without sense, screwing things, mending them, touching rough, being rough kids with scraped knees and with only each other to scream at. But it was love, he always reminds, it was their love at the end.

Theo always talked about getting far away from the nasty cluster in Las Vegas, the horrible people in their life, leaving their pain, their sadness, packing clothes, taking Popchik and a bus to somewhere only they’ll know and never to see the world burning around them again until they died. Of course he agreed to it all back then, as if there wasn’t any doubt, and if someone for some reason knew and wondered why, he would’ve to say that he wanted to get over his crappy father. But he did because he just wanted to follow Theo wherever he went, hypnotized by that child martyr angel with a broken halo. 

He hung onto the idea of a better life, the last restart, waking every morning knowing he was saved now, with someone who truly loved him and was never leaving. 

The first time Boris prayed for someone else, yearning to be with someone, wasn’t loud nor enough to be heard by God. Theo moved so fast to even stop him, and a million thoughts passed through his mind that night, thoughts he didn’t truly get out but understood. He was more afraid of leaving his known life than brave to follow him into the unknown, even if he loved Theo Decker more than he feared to be alone. 

Panicked, he kissed him at the door, wanting to follow but too afraid to do so, like a small little goldfinch tied by the tarsus. Even if he promised to follow him, he couldn’t, so Theodore Decker disappeared for a while.

The second time he knew he wanted to reach to be something more than a problem child was when Xandra gifted him his Triumph Bonneville motorcycle and told him to drive as far as he could.

And he could only think of one single thing, he wanted to see Theo again. What else could he think?

❝I heard you saw Pippa❞. A sweet mocky voice talked, he turned at his left on the couch to see the ginger drummer pretending to view a gossip magazine while continuing, ❝and she was asking you to visit them❞.

❝And what if she did? She just wants to know if I’m alright❞, replied.

Both knew that was a bullshity answer, he took a deep breath.

❝What I’m trying to say i–❞

❝I’m sure we both know what you try to say❞, she interrupts, leaving the magazine on his lap, brushing a few cumbersome locks of his sight, ❝what I’m trying to say is if you’ll be fine with it❞.

He doesn’t know. He’s still poorly pretending he didn’t fight with Theo the last month of summer break. It wasn't a fight, he tried to believe. But the past haunted them whenever it wanted to haunt them with the things they never said, the things they said too late, too low to be heard and the things that shouldn’t have to be said. Things that he didn’t know how to take, but took him badly. 

iBut it stills being love, tries to lie to himself.

❝I’m always fine, we just need to see each other a forget some shit. Stumbling is necessary, isn’t it?❞, he honeyed answers, patting her head and messing a bit with her curly locks, which she went annoyed by, ❝but I’ll bring Will with me as my support pet!❞

❝That’s… that’s the other thing I want to talk about. Boris, are you crushing on Will?❞, Bev asks nicely.

He had to stop to think in his next words. 

❝I do like him❞, his girl friend rolls her eyes, ❝in a not friendly way, very, really very much. But it doesn’t matter, he surely doesn’t like me that way a– what’s with that look?❞

❝Oh my fu– it doesn’t matter!? You’ve just told me, the ice bitchy boy, you like someone! Of course it matters cossack!❞, she high-pitched screams, hitting him with one of the cushions of The Cabin’s old red coach, making him fall from his spot, ❝Why you didn’t tell the others!? Maybe only Mari! You can win Will’s heart, I saw how sometimes he looks at you and believe me, it’s not in a friendly way only❞.

Boris laughs dryly, coughing shortly after to clear his throat and to not choke with his saliva. The redhead looked into him, he had clear she didn’t have plenty of bad luck in his life. 

❝It doesn’t Bevvie, I’m not telling him about it, too cliché❞, speaks smoothly, giving a gaze to the ceiling before gaze back to her, ❝it doesn’t matter, I’m never lucky with matters of love❞.

❝But you are lucky to have William Byers on your pitied martyred life❞. He avoids her eyes, those beating him with a nailed bat in her mind, because she was half right, he was lucky to have William, ❝so get a damn grip and do yourself a favor❞.

He can’t say out loud how much he’s grateful to meet that ginger smalltown girl alone at a party and decided to talk to her as he saw her boring without losing his bitchin’ facade, but he’s glad he did, overly grateful. She retakes the magazine that was lying on the floor after he was punched, no more looks, just a small smile on her red lips.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

The third time he had a glimpse of what he wanted and how he could feel real, to have more than junk and disdain, was when he crossed his path with Marina Berryfield’s. 

A young soon to be college girl, whose eyes are painted and shine as the emeralds does, who held him as if he really mattered. 

Their meeting wasn’t a nice one, it was a freezing night in New York, he had a few days there, no place to stay more than under the public lamps, enough money to eat and the same clothes who he occasionally washed in the laundries. That night he had a delivering drugs’ job, usual work for him, he was ending the deal when he saw those emerald green eyes calling for help surrounded by desperate to fuck animals. It reminded them of Kotku, a damsel in distress. He decided to be kind and stood for her, fighting those animals, almost dying in the process. 

Sometimes he wishes he had died that night so nothing of his life wouldn’t be happening and haunting him. But he didn’t. He woke up in the hospital with that same girl scared and relieved for him to be alive, and she decided she wanted to owe him with hers, putting above him a roof, food and even a family he used to call his own. 

And he thought life was again giving him a chance to aspire to something.

❝You have been pretty quiet❞. Started the conversation Mari as Evan’s sitting on the counter’s chairs while he’s making them a decent meal with whatever wasn’t expired on his fridge, ❝it scares me❞.

❝Maybe he’s thinking about if he wants to end on a bathtub or on his room❞, macabre jokes Perkins, changing on the channels on his TV before hearing the Netflix’s sound. 

Before Mari could scold him, he replies:

❝A bathtub sounds nice, thanks for the idea❞.

The dark-coffee-brown haired girl turned to him with a worrier sight than other days when Evander and him joke about planning his own death. He scolds himself internally for it. Although he didn’t want to scare her, he couldn’t lie about how tentative the lovely idea of a cheap Ophelia’s death sounded. For her fortune (and his misfortune) he only has a rusty shower.

❝You two are gonna be the death of me. I’m not joking here and since you haven’t and aren’t talking again to mom, I’m in charge of secure you’re still alive, Borya❞, she explains, pointing at him.

❝Come on, Cherry, I’m fine. Just wondering shit❞, answers to her, he has decided they are having eggs with bacon and boxed orange juice, ❝don’t worry too much❞.

❝You think?❞

❝So funny, Jerk-ins❞.

He finishes the cooking, serving it in the not broken dishes, Evan talks about bands’ event on the 57 Rooftop Park, a place where the two of them lovely doves used to go to occasionally skip classes (he knew about it, Mari would come back those days smiling so much he feared that she was actually on molly). And she would tell him how much she enjoyed that time, and he would pretend to not care at all, but he’ll happily listen to her happy rumble.

The park is organizing a small event full of sweets, street food and live music, inviting bands to play at their gathering. The blond thinks it’ll be great for them.

❝Rogan said we must be more known, it’s perfect for us❞. The only girl in the place smiles and nods, ❝I assume we are in, right Pavlikovsky?❞, he nods too, ❝great❞.

❝We need to tell Bevvie and Will about it❞, Mari remembered, ❝I’ll tell Bev, Borya tells Will, can you?❞

❝Pff! Of course I can, but also you can since Will’s now Vanvan’s bestie❞.

❝Jealous?❞

❝Cut it off, guys❞, asked before continuing, ❝well, just, since you two are spending even more time than us with Will, I think maybe you can, don’t look at me as if we’re stupid, we know you spent more time in his place than in yours❞, she pointed out, taking a sip of juice before the next part: ❝And you two really get along, we all see you really like him❞.

He said nothing, turning all into an uncomfortable silence, a type of silence he knows, the one where the head becomes noisy, and inquiry noise, as his head wonders how many people know what he’s been trying to hide for the sake of his bad stitched heart. And Evander holding the same expression he held on Lambrini’s house  just makes him feel nauseous. He guesses it’s never enough to hide something, it’ll linger on him.

❝You– You really like him, don’t you?❞, he hears the question again. He doesn’t know if he wants to answer. 

❝I– Stop it. Whatever you’re trying to do, stop it right now. I’m not in the mood for 21 questions❞, grumbles, he doesn’t want to understand.

Marina looks aside, Evander stares at him, does everybody need to know? The blond knew it even before he could know it by himself, Cherry mocked about it and sure Beverly and Trash-Trash have to know two or more things about it too. It passed down like a folk song, and even Kotku heard it. The untold secret that everyone has to know, which fights inside him and wants to burn his decadent world. 

❝Russian, I said it w–❞

❝Don’t❞, begs, ❝don’t say it. It isn’t– even if it is, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t and you… You know, you know too, maybe everyone knows, maybe William knows and it’s fine but I’m not. I don’t care about it, I don’t need to care, I’m sick of care❞.

❝Borya❞.

❝I know, I know, it’s my bad, it’s my bad, I never thought I’d fall for this tricky shit again, but I made myself so comfortable in his place and I took it all like a selfish bastard, I must seen this coming from me again, I did it before, I’m doing it always, and know we have feelings we… feelings we can’t and I won’t share, it doesn’t matter, I’m sick of searching for love and it to leave me alone. I need to– you  two stop it before I kick you❞.

It may not look like it, though many believe he’s a cold hearted man, he’s a fucking small kid terrified about his feelings and life. It turns out confusion to realize how much Will began to mean for him, how he made a room inside his soul, how he could take the weight of his shoulders and quietly tell him he’s alright, and how it is worth living another day, the same way Theo used to make him feel alive. 

He wondered how two people could make him feel loved and alone at the same time in different ways.

They could’ve loved him until it hurted somehow. Those memories of their flirts haunt him, drown him. They hurt, and yet he’s willing and aching to love him until the love ends with him, until it destroys his soul and self. All those sunsets, all those nights, all those shared secrets hold just a little more, scraping his heart, making it bleed, hard to be stitched again.

But Will appeared in his life, stood for himself, against him, a held his hand in his own, loving them with his sweet voice in every song, every laugh, in every drunk whisper, and even when he’s realizing it, he isn’t afraid of still holding his hand and feelings and gave them to him. 

And everytime William Byers looked at him, he had a glimpse of what he had with Theodore Decker years ago. But yet, Will makes him want to me more again, to have more, to reach for more than what he has, to get out of his burning world or burn with him aside. 

He wants to be more than Boris Pavlikovsky, an aussie with ukrainian-polish roots, a wanderer in life, stumbling over the same stones, a boy who bleed by his arms and scraped knees while everyone seems to do fine, living the same way and his soul dying inside the back of his mind. He needs to get over wanting parental love, past desires, Las Vegas’ starry nights, burning touches, all the late talks and sense of belonging.

But then he wonders: how can he?

❝Borichka❞. Marina, the girl that has all the older sister’s vibes, his self-adopted sister cups his cheeks, looking at his eyes in a way he forgot she could’ve, as if she wanted to put all his pain and insecurities on her to stop him from feeling them. ❝You don’t have to figure it out all alone, not yet, both of you are young, reckless, you have the time on your side. Just… just be selfish this time, be selfish, search for your own happiness and don’t be afraid to love again❞.

He nods, holding back his light tears. He doesn’t know where he would be if he didn’t stand for that before-soon-to-be college lady that took his hand and gave him for a while a loving family he lost by screwing up himself. And yet, after losing the Berryfield trust, after telling her many cruel things and hurting her, she stills there as the family he always needed.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

He still remembers the first time he was at the cafeteria, when it was smaller, when its name was only “The Goldfinch” in siena brown letters in the awning, with wooden tables and chairs, without the dessert display case and all the walls painted in a light gray. 

He would take the table nearest the counter, asked for a plain latte and a dried muffin, just waiting to or talking with Theo and Pippa if they’re already there, jokingly complaining about their food choice or their coffee variety before being shut by Potter’s annoyed voice asking him when he’s leaving, although they knew he didn’t want that, so he didn’t. 

He looked at that place change, painted its walls, placed their frames, placed new things on the menu, even helped to bake when he had time. He remembers it all too well.

The Goldfinch was the newest of his memories about Potter, the least that hurt, the one that gives Theo the smell of coffee beans on his head. But now,  two of his worlds are colliding, this ringing love for William, amused by the beauty of the place, and the place itself that saves his love for someone who might not care at all again. 

❝God, Boris?❞. He knows that employee’s voice, Jade Miller, who has been working since the opening. They don’t know he has company until he drags him close and asks them to be the nicest they can with Will, ❝Oh… well, of course, I’ll bring you the menus!❞

They sat down in the same place he’s been sitting since then. He sees how there’s a display case where it wasn’t, new paintings on the side walls, some others changed, a new dessert that must be made of pineapple, a small ad of a new strawberry frappe. It made him feel familiar and odd at the same time.

❝Order whatever you want, it’s on me❞, he points, pretending to read the menu he already memorized, ❝I’ll like a Clubhouse sandwich and maybe an americano❞.

He’s glad that the brown haired boy likes the cafe, looking at how he would lose track of things viewing all the colorful details, the paintings, the pictures framed, the display of the sweets and other bullshit he doesn’t really understand. As long as his partner is happy, he can be happy by seeing him. 

❝…Maybe we could share a dessert, I always share them with my siblings since I don’t end up eating all the thing❞.

❝You have siblings?❞

He’s genuinely surprised by the fact someone like William has siblings, he always had more the aura of an overprotected only child which his parents wouldn’t let him go to parties after 10 o’clock or something. He connects some dots about Will’s will to care for others as the answer of an overprotective loving family, who really care for him as much as he does for them. 

❝So, how is it? Apart from broken noses, to have siblings❞.

❝Well, some people say is a torture, and it is, kind of, most of the time it’s nice…❞

Of course Byers would be thankful for having them. He used to wonder how it should’ve been if his mother was still alive and, for missing the birth control pills, got him a younger brother or sister. Maybe he would have settled down much earlier for their safety, maybe he would have learnt a better way to love, he’d have a better sense of belonging and a sense of care. Or maybe they would be two screwed up human beings living the same shit as him.

The door entrance bell rang. The whole world freezed as the well-known silhouette from Las Vegas’ starry night in the light blue eyes of someone who has grown taller than him entered. Long sleeve shirt under a long brown sweater that may hide all the sunsets on the swings, no clue of the helpless guy he used to get high with, a new young boy who has figured out the things he yearned for back then. Someone Boris knows and doesn’t.

❝Boris?❞

And he softly calls his name, disassembling him, sighing inside at the thought of for how many years he wanted him to call him out with that honey sweetness in his voice like he used to do in Las Vegas, how he wanted to be taken back to those days of moons, sleepless nights, chanting spells for their loneliness and tearing themselves as someone would tear a piece of porcelain.

Boris calls his nickname, Potter, by the way his glasses make him look nerdy and desperate. He teases him, old things don't need to change, and they talk as if nothing happened. He has the urge to hold onto his arms, to stay, he wants to take back the things he said that departing night, to say what he never got to say, to chase him all the way until he could hug him with the safety that his light-brown-haired boy isn’t going somewhere without him.

❝What’s with that look, William?❞, he dares to ask.

But Will doesn’t look at his eyes, they just hold hands under the table.

He knows that sad hopeless love look William was giving to him, he gave it to Theo a long time ago, he falls on the fact that he’s being a total jerk knowing why he has that look on his face, but even if he says something to reassure him and stop his heart from hurting more, it would be a damn lie. He wanted Potter back as much as he was trying to like William without falling deeper onto him.

He wanted the world to burn him with love.

❝Theo’s nice❞, he answers after a long.

❝I know. A bit nerdy and sometimes an asshole, but he’s nice❞.

❝I can tell you missed him❞.

And he knows he does, he misses his Theo. 

feeling
unable to be the one they love and never being enough.

Chapter Text

луна
noun ; UA
a sound that is heard after it has been reflected off a surface such as a wall or a cliff.

He often doesn’t bite all the way he had to be where he’s now. Because how a problematic asocial child with no many interesting aspirations achieved to things he should’ve only dreamt of, craving with his nails in the world a path for him and anyone who wanted to follow it. He goes to sleep and sometimes dreams about that rough acid teen with scraped knees who got high and above, running away from daylight and hiding under the shadows, somehow and somewhere that he’ll wake up and look himself in the glass of the photos framed in the wall the same scared scraped teen, lost and alone. He, Boris Pavlikovsky, is forever a lost acid kid that turned nineteen in a blink. 

❝Hey!❞

He has to snap back, he notices he’s been holding the same whiskey bottle since another of his coworkers gave it to him for whatever table it is, he scolds himself for earning that call from his nasty boss, hoping him to discover her girlfriend fucking with the morning shift bartender. 

❝You’ve been distracted more, Boris, pay attention or that fucker might use it as an excuse to fire you now that you’re checking it late more often❞, said a mate, taking his order for him.

But at this point, he’d gladly take that as God’s sign to find something better or else. But he can’t help it, to go back to the same ethereal love lyrics repeating like broken records of what he wants or what he thinks he deserves: the Red desires on an illusion that’ll never come again, the life he wanted with Theo, and how he’s Enchanted with the growing feelings towards Will. It plays, but it always answers itself with the analogy of an addicted person jumping between pot and molly as if they wanted to believed his body is less fucked up with one than the other.

He wonders then who he pictures a better life with in hypothetical cases. He used to imagine a life he could call his, to leave Las Vegas’ empty space and travel to a pacific life somewhere in a lost small town with Theo, in a house full of sunflowers and maybe more dogs than Popchick, him making breakfast and dinner, watching news like an old married couple and being themselves. But as he wanted and waited, it just bittered. Because he got stuck in New York, tried to enjoy the crumbles of life and destroying himself to his pain wasn’t only because of love and shit. And then Will steps in, and it makes him imagine a life somewhere as long as his starlight doesn’t leave because nothing seemed to be important, nor the house, nor the place nor the roles. 

He felt like he discovered he just waited and wanted all that, to feel a sip of joy. 

❝Stop slacking, you Putin, we are saturated!❞, his manager screams again, snapping his fingers in his face, ❝move!❞

And there wasn’t a wrong choice, just decisions, and he doesn’t know to choose if he’s part of the people who always search to figure out what’s their place in the world. 

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

When he stated that he’d confront his problems, he didn’t mean to stand for the worst sooner than later as that well known frown was a few inches away from him. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen him when they clearly saw the other from the cereal aisle. If The Hole was the first of Dante’s hell circles, Joseph Berryfied was the closest to Lucifer. 

Where’s Marina when he needs her?

❝Pavlikovsky❞. His name is called out by that one baritone tone. He doesn’t want to look up, but he has to pretend the bravery that slipped from him. ❝long time❞.

❝A very long time❞, he whispered.

He’s stills the way he remembered and met him, a serious version of Marina, just now in an italian styled suit that screamt to everyone that he has money to bail out Argentina from its peso devaluation (or whatever Eddie said about economy shenanigans) and he’s the perfect candidate to every conservative old money mother to have as a son-in-law or every magnate to be his friend. He tries to relax with the fact he stills being Marina’s brother, same dark brown curls, same green eyes, but without all trace of sweetness she has.

❝I heard you found a new vocalist for your band❞, Joe finally says again, looking at the shelves, ❝Bill?❞

❝Will. William Byers, he has natural talent after all❞.

❝And that you might have an opportunity to play at The Oniric, isn’t it?❞

His Windows Vista system stopped for a second. He forgot Marina and him weren’t the siblings who fought and hated each other, they’re always been closed since he remembers, she must’ve told him about their situation, surely about all and if that’s the case, he’s screwed and needs to wait a little more for a legal citation because of The Hole’s play.  He cursed at his eurasian ancestors, probably jews who weren’t burnt to death, for how life wasn’t giving him a rest.

❝Yes, we might❞.

He gazed at him, also wondering how he managed to keep his cool around him without strangling him for everything he has done. He knows Joseph Berryfield isn’t exactly the peacefullest man alive, much for his own delusion, because he’s more his father’s son than his mother’s. And it circles again, that thought, "Our mother”, Marina called it, as if his ghost was wandering their house and maybe it’s kind of true. And he wondered how Joe never killed him when he had the chance.

❝Good❞.

The man with green emerald eyes took a cereal box and left him on the aisle with his jelly legs and trembling hands, wondering if all this was a bad dream. He rushed to get out of there and avoid the soft raindrops sprinkling in the supermarket. 

A few text messages were left after that too.

You were here too!?
Joe told me he talked
to you. Boris, are you
alright? Answer me…

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

After that, he swears he hasn’t done anything too bad for a while. In fact, he’s been a decent citizen and student, going to all his lectures and classes, actually doing his homework instead of paying for someone to do so, taking notes, eating medium healthy food, cleaning his place from time to time, even spending time on himself to write or drink vodka trying to reduce his marijuana consume. 

God, he’s been a decent human being. 

❝Zirka?❞. He saw his phone screen light up with Will’s distinctive phone call notification, he gave him the guitar intro of Boys Don’t Cry. It’s odd from Will to call him, but he didn’t might at all, he just answered. ❝William, my rockstar, missing me so bad?❞

If he, who’s the worst person alive, hasn’t been bad, and karma knows, why do people who never do bad things happen to live the worst things? He heard Will’s shaky voice trying to explain himself in a hurry, stumbling over his own sobs, begging him to come for him.  And his heart shrank on every pitiful sound.

❝My God, zirka, is something wrong?❞, he asked, grabbing his crimson red hoodie from the couch, searching for his shoes as the sobs just started to be worst, letting out not understandable words, ❝Will, please, I can’t understand you, please, ca–calm down, Will? Shit, shit, I’m on my way, where are you?❞

As much as he wanted to understand, it wasn’t the time when he barely understood where he was. And as much as he wanted to magically appear there, he had to deal with NY’s traffic. He grabbed Will’s yellow helmet and linked his own helmet to his cellphone to follow the call, running the engine at almost thousands of miles per hour, dodging the stopped cars and cutting through small streets to get there in record time.

❝Don’t hang up, please, Will…❞

He loses no time when he’s finally there, searching everywhere for him, but it didn’t take more than a few minutes to find him sitting on a bench, porcelain pale face and lost watered eyes, wandering and stunned. His heart got smaller than it had, shocked to think that the first time he saw him that bad wasn’t so long ago. 

❝William, are you fine? You’re fucking shivering❞, dares to ask, knowing the main answer.

❝I don’t know❞, the mentioned whimps, squeezing the fabric of his jeans.

God, if Will has been one of the best people alive he had the fortune to meet, a twinkling star, a small ringing bell, why do these kinds of things need to happen to him? He holds his warm left hand, he takes time to call Richie and half explain the situation, promising he would take care of him as he has been doing. Then, they are walking to get out of Pinwheel Park.

Will spoke, like he never heard him before, in his apartment. The first things didn’t make sense, they were strange, like broken pictures trying to glue themselves without a clear image, but the more rambling he heard, the more he understood and things seemed to fit in. And he got horrified with them, childish horror tales forgotten inside his mind, things he never expected someone like Will could’ve lived. Even if he lived similar nightmares and called them a Tuesday afternoon, hearing of them from someone so bright like Will…

He fell in the fact that no one deserved those kinds of horrors, no one deserved to be abused or be afraid of the dark, none of them deserved to be a burden or unwanted, none of them deserved wanting to die, and Will sure deserved to hide them until he couldn’t escape from them. Then, somebody tell him, why does someone so gentle and caring like Will, who didn’t ask for suffering, have to suffer? And he despite God one more time, for everything that happened in Will’s life. 

A life that should’ve been full of love, loving parents, friends, never worried about what he’d eat tomorrow, if his father was in the mood to let him leave one more day, about warmth and company or about why he wasn’t afraid of death the same way others were. 

❝To start with something, you need help, professional help❞, he says after a silence and a tea sip. 

❝I can no longer afford me that and I can’t ask for more to my parents❞.

❝I said you aren’t alone on this, William Byers. I still had the number of my old psychiatrist, she will help us❞.

Somewhere under the pile of unfolded clothes must be the business card of the therapist and psychiatrist he had while he was under the Berryfield’s legal care, a calm lovely miss assertive on her responses. Will laughs from nowhere.

❝God, this, this isn’t fair, Boris❞, he speaks. The laugh lowers, the space falls under pressure, something he finds strange and wants to understand, ❝no for me, no for us. I’m done of this, we’re just hurting ourselves with this complicated feelings, we both know we aren’t letting go what we felt was ours, this isn’t fair for any of us❞, reminds them.

Boris didn’t expect that face to face either, more than a self answer than a shy fearful lingering question between them he knows he’s been hiding from. His doomed heart was still holding Theo and the memories they had, but wasn’t letting go Will for so many envious reasons, and Aster’s party left him wondering more, wondering if it ever mattered to be complete adults to be loved, because broken people desperately also needed it. He wondered if he’s making a dumb play again. But what else does he have to do? 

What else he wants?

“Love”, he answers to himself, he wants love. And he’ll never have it until he tries again and again, breaking his heart even worse, finding them on the same page of not caring to love someone, but to feel loved. 

❝I– I think we can do it if we try❞.

(𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦…)

The dense atmosphere broke, his starlight chuckles.

❝That was so cheesy, even for you❞.

❝I know❞.

❝Boris, you know–❞.

❝I know, but we know and it’s fine for us❞.

They know it’s fine. They had enough time to know if they didn’t.

✦ ––––—–––—–––––––—––– ✦

The Cabin never felt warm, it wasn’t that kind of place, but now he can feel it. The trash he's too lazy to pick up and the smell of sweet mixed with alcohol still there, but when he looked at those hickory brown eyes gazed, telling how much he enjoyed being there, even if they weren't mended, it felt right. He misses time to time chords because he’s looking at Will, Will might miss lyrics because of him, they'll stay side by side, listening to the world go by, painting stars in the freckles of his collar bones, pretending all those love songs are for them and staring like fools.

His leather jacket started to smell like Will, like his cheap soap mixed with lavenders, the fresh paint with solvent, the charcoal and graphite of his hands when he brushes them off; the same way his red sweater used to. And he doesn’t stop to find it strange that he’s enchanted by him and they’re now resting on a dusty complex, as if he found out his twin flame. 

❝Too tired to think, zirka, help me on this. I’ve been thinking too hard I’m empty❞.

Will would make that thinking face while he stroked his messy straight hair, he found himself loving those peaceful un-high moments, sometimes a bit drunk, but never too much.

❝Just think about what Bev said, I’m with her, maybe another love song isn’t that bad, what do ya’ think?❞.

Love, the kind of lyrics on his head that play in repeat, the same old broken record about love and feelings, illusions and circumstances, that answer the question: love wasn’t his. Love, being ethereal and joyful, was this chain around his ankle that didn’t let him fly away. He understood for a moment the poor little bird on Cabritus’ paint, bound to be tied to love, but never loved enough. He looks back at his mistakes, at his envy and needs and his answers, the memories and the thing he falsely called a new beginning, he wished and hoped for love to be his, he remembered Las Vegas’ afternoons and nights, and he never needed more than Theo, he’ll never need Will himself and he’ll remember someday how he was desperate for love. Love songs weren’t enough to describe this kind of love.

He’s missing summer, he’s missing love, he loved to love, but he forgot how to. Because he remembers when he asked him to come along, and he just couldn’t, and Will sure remembers the things Mike said and how he changed all himself to him. Love in their lives turned out to be some kind of shitty late night show. 

But he knows it’s fine. He will find a new better self with or out of love, if Will was happy, he’s happy too.