Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kris’ life, for the most part, was a carefully constructed set of rules. Like a sketchbook full of drawings. You were meant to color it, but there were specific colors you should use and you needed to color in between the lines.

Simple.

Or, it was, before Bojan slowly but surely pushed his way in his life. 

Coloring his life over any and all lines, like he couldn't see them at all and breathing to life the colors Kris couldn't have even imagined.

It was a slow but inevitable dance they played, exchanging jabs towards each other. A push and pull, forever circling each other.

“That song doesn't have distortions.” Turned into “I still think you are annoying, but sure, we can hang out after school.” Then, “Please don't faint when you meet my dad.” 

“I don't think I ever would have picked up a guitar if it wasn't for you.”

Was it truly a surprise for them to end up together?

“I don't think I ever felt this way about anyone,” Bojan said to him, his eyes wide and honest. 

They were at the park, in the middle of the night, sitting on a blanket Kris sneakily took from the far end of the closet. He didn't like sneaking out at night, but only this late did they dare to be this close outside.

Besides, it was summer. It was warm and they had no obligations outside of band practices. Kris thought that for once, he could relax a bit and let himself be a bit more laid back.

Bojan passed his hand through Kris’ short hair and Kris pretended it didn't make him shiver. 

“Because you had so many experiences with dating in the first seventeen years of your life?”

Bojan lightly slapped his arm.

“I had a girlfriend before!”

Kris snorted.

“Right. The one you dated for…what? Two weeks?”

“Three!”

“My mistake.”

Bojan pushed him on his back as Kris laughed and kissed him. It was a sure way to quickly end most of their arguments. 

And even those were far and few in those first few months of their relationship.  

Months were passing quickly, though and as summer melted into autumn and then the beginning of winter, things started to change.

It was on a particularly cold night, after a gig they did that they found themselves in Kris’ house. His parents knew about it by this point, and having expressed their approval, allowed Bojan to come over when he liked.

This was how they ended up lying in Kris’ bed, the post gig adrenaline slowly dying down. Bojan was always hit with the low especially hard afterwards, so Kris made sure he didn't leave him alone after.

“Don't you sometimes wish we could just…go away?” Bojan whispered in the dark.

Kris circled his arms around his waist, pulling him closer to his chest.

“Go where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but here.”

Kris felt his heart squeeze painfully at the bitterness in Bojan's voice. He gently turned him so he'd face him.

“What are you saying? Why do you want to leave? I never heard you talk like this before.”

Bojan's eyes were piercing, even in the darkness of Kris’ bedroom.

“I just…don't you wish we could just hold hands in public? Kiss? Just, be ourselves?”

Kris carefully considered his words, his hand automatically intertwining with Bojan's.

“I mean, yes. But we have the time. It's not now or never. We are barely eighteen.”

Bojan huffed, turning his head away. Kris gently turned it back to him.

“Where is all this coming from?”

Bojan shrugged, but Kris could feel there was something deeper than that. So he waited.

“There is a guy from the same year as me, but in a different class. Someone broke his arm during recess today.”

Kris felt the chill sink into his bones despite being in a warm bedroom.

“Oh my God. What happened? Did they do it…on purpose?”

There was slight hesitation before Bojan nodded. Then, all at once, it clicked for Kris.”

“They did it because he is gay.”

It wasn’t a question, but Bojan nodded again. Oh Bojan , Kris thought. 

“Are you…” Kris trailed off, unsure what the right word was. Scared? Angry?

 “...okay?”

Bojan rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m peachy, but I am not the one with a broken arm, am I?”

“Bojči…”

“Don’t.”

They fell silent, but the tension stayed, hanging heavily in the air. Too heavy for Kris’ childhood bedroom, too heavy than anything that hung between them before.

Kris thought of middle school where people called him a girl and a fag until he cut him hair. How he could have easily been the one to get his arm broken in slightly different circumstances. Yet, what could he say to all that? They couldn’t exactly just pack up and move away on a whim, could they?

Besides, they wouldn’t be in high school forever. For Bojan it was only a few months left, while for Kris, it was one more year. College would be different, they just had to bid their time until then. 

There were so many things Kris could say, but Bojan looked so small and exhausted, Kris didn't want to push. When he was angry or felt something was unfair, he could be quite stubborn. Pressing the issue could only result in more argument. 

“Alright, maybe we should just go to sleep and talk about this some other time, yeah?”

Bojan looked up at him for a moment, his dark eyes piercing. Kris let him, unsure what he was looking for, exactly. Then, after a moment Bojan simply nodded and wrapped around Kris tighter, as if he was trying to melt into him. Kris chuckled and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“Goodnight Bojči.”

“Goodnight Krisko.”

It didn't get better.

Ever since that night, Bojan kept pushing the issue. Saying how, if they stay, they'll cave under the pressure, get stuffed into a mold and then it'll be too late. 

Kris didn't understand. They were still themselves and while certainly, the situation wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t dire either. They were only eighteen. Where would they go? And how?

Bojan didn't seem to have a definitive answer to that, so they stopped arguing. But Kris could tell it didn't leave his mind. Then, things got worse.

Bojan began pulling away. There was no other way of describing it. Not just pulling away from Kris, but from the band, too. Kris wasn't sure what shifted, but ever since Bojan got a new music teacher, he seemed to have completely shifted his worldview.

He kept missing practice and saying he just didn't have a clear idea on the new song they started working on.

Their dates became fewer too, although it did seem Bojan put more effort into maintaining their relationship than he did in maintaining the band.

Kris did wonder why he looked so tired all the time, though. What was he doing?

He came knocking at his front door one day after class and Bojan's mom greeted him. He saw a surprise flash over her face.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Cvjetićanin.”

“Kris, you know you can call me Snežana. But also Bojan isn't home yet.”

Kris made a split second decision to lie and find out what had been happening with Bojan lately. So he smiled, hoping he came off as sheepish and earnest at the same time.

“I actually wanted to come a bit earlier and surprise him, since he had been so busy lately…”

Snežana's face turned understanding.

“Yeah, of course. Come in. You can wait in his room if you'd like. Do you want anything to drink?”

After a bit of small talk with Snežana, Kris found himself in Bojan's room. It was somehow even more of a mess than usual.

What drew Kris in was a stack of papers neatly put on the table. Or well, as neatly as one could expect from Bojan.

When he picked one up, he found they were song lyrics. Not the song lyrics of the new song Kris had been begging Bojan to work on, though. No.

This was-this wasn't even the kind of song that suited the band. And the notes on it confirmed Kris’ suspicion. 

It was a solo song.

Kris slowly sat on the bed, the paper still in his hands. He stared blankly, his brain trying to catch up to what he was seeing.

There was only white static in his head, his heart drumming in his ears. Then, the doors opened and Bojan was standing in the doorway.

Kris felt as if time slowed down. He looked up at him. Saw as Bojan's expression flickered between surprised, to fond. Then, his eyes slowly focused on the paper Kris was holding. His face paled.

“Kris, I-”

“Are you leaving the band?”

Bojan closed his mouth, then opened it, then closed it again. The pressure in Kris’ head grew, static turning into white-hot rage.

“Are you leaving the fucking band?!”

Bojan flinched back, his foot hitting the door behind him. Kris breathed in through his teeth. 

“I don't know yet. But-probably.”

Kris closed his eyes. Tried to breathe through his anger and something awfully close to heartbreak.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Kris’ hand trembled as he dragged them through his own hair, nails scratching over the scalp, attempting to ground himself with the pain.

“Humor me.”

“Statistically, solo singers are more likely to make it in the industry.”

He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. His breaths came out as labored. He couldn't bring himself to look at Bojan at all.

“So that's what this is about? You want so badly to get away from here, you are willing to leave all of us behind?”

“No!”

Kris finally opened his eyes to see Bojan walking towards him and kneeling down to take Kris’ hands in his own.

“You-you could come with me. If it all works out as it should.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. Bojan's voice sounded so small, as if pleading him to understand. Kris did understand. But understanding wasn't enough.

“How would that even work? We both agreed we'd have plan B. How do you think this will work with college? Besides, if we are not doing this as a band, how would I even go with you?”

Bojan didn't say anything, which was an answer in itself.

“Is this what your new music teacher told you? Is he pushing you to-”

“He is not pushing me to do anything! I want to do this!”

The black line, crudely drawn across all the other line and colors, cutting it in half.

“Well then,” Kris said, his voice coming out strangely calm, almost frosty, “I suppose there is nothing more to say.”

He saw the exact moment his words hit Bojan, his eyes widening and his face paling even further.

“Wait. Are you breaking up with me?”

Kris felt as if he was in some sort of trance, all his fiery rage turning to ice. He pulled his hands from Bojan's grasp.

“I guess I am.”

He stood up and Bojan did as well, grabbing on to his arms. Kris tried to shake him off, but Bojan held firm.

“No, wait-please listen to me!”

“What is there to listen to? You want to leave? Fine! There is nothing holding you back now!”

Kris began walking towards the door, but then Bojan grabbed him again and pinned him to the door. Kris exhaled shakily and then he was being kissed.

Bojan had never kissed him like this before. So desperate and full of despair. Kris kissed him back and cupped Bojan's face, finding it wet with tears.

By the time he pulled away, they were both breathless. 

“Stay,” Bojan whispered, his hot breath ghosting over his lips.

“Only if you do.”

Bojan's face twisted up in pain. 

“I can't, Kris I have to try. If I don't try, I'll always wonder what would have happened if I tried. I'm sorry.”

Kris’ ice shield broke and tears slid down his cheeks too.

“I'm sorry, too,” he said and pushed him away.

This time, Bojan didn't try to stop him. Kris walked past the kitchen and living room, hearing Snežana humming to the radio, blissfully unaware.

For the first time, Kris didn't say goodbye to her when he left.

He got out on the street and simply walked. Winter sunset painted the sky in beautiful orange and yellow colors, but Kris felt completely devoid of color. 

Like a coloring book with pages torn out and discarded, all the colors uneven and ugly. For the first time he saw them all, but they held no beauty and no warmth.

He swore he would never, ever let Bojan break his heart again. He would never even talk about him ever again.

He was done.

Chapter Text

Over the years, Kris had found out a way to keep Bojan's colors carefully contained within the lines set up. It was easier with them being just friends, a careful distance helping him keep a clear head. 

He'd lie if he said he never felt tempted to try again. But he didn't think the band would survive another one of their breakups.

Kris was a rational one, keeping everything organized in the band. Necessary, just as it sometimes tampered the fun.

Bojan was the beating heart. He breathed life not only into the songs but also into the band. They couldn't survive without a heart.

The lines only meant something if one colored in the drawings they made.

So he kept a careful balance. He could be Bojan's friend, laugh at his jokes, hug him, even cuddle him to a point. He'd be there to pick him up if anything went wrong and he would provide advice if he needed it.

There was another unspoken rule that they both adhered to. Neither of them ever dated a man after their breakup.It wasn't an actual rule. They never spoke about it, would never forbid the other from it, no. But Kris noticed the pattern.

Bojan jokingly flirted, sure and would kiss guys for a shock effect. But it was never something that stuck. Like he too, put an invisible barrier up before that happened.

Kris could never make himself go through something like that again. Girlfriends broke his heart too, of course-but he didn't write songs about any of them. No matter what Bojan thought. 

He supposed that was what all the romance stories told were true to a degree. There was that one person whose absence you'd always physically feel. Someone you'd love, even when you knew it was pointless.

Kris’ point was, one of their unwritten rules was that they'd never date men. And then Eurovision happened.

Käärijä happened.

It was like a switch was flipped for Bojan. Like there was suddenly light where there was previously all dark.

Kris sometimes wished he could hate Käärijä. Or well, Jere . It wasn't Käärijä that Bojan looked at like someone seeing colors for the first time. The kind they could never even imagine before.

He wished that he could think the man was annoying and insufferable, that he was fake for how he switched between sexy to sweet depending on if he were on a stage or not.

But how could he hate him, when he shared so many traits with Bojan? Worse yet, how could he hate him when Bojan clearly loved him so much?

Every time he wished to snap about how annoying Jere's constant posting was, he saw Bojan's grinning face and his words died on the tip of his tongue.

“I had him first!” He wanted to scream. But just as the thought formed, another took its place. “But you also let him go.”

So, Kris didn't say a word. Not until they went to Finland as a band. 

There was a visible change in Bojan as soon as they reached the airport. A kind of sudden nervousness one feels when they are about to step into the unknown.

Was he that nervous before asking Kris out? He watched Bojan as he tapped his fingers over his thigh. Over and over again.

Tap-tap-tap. Then quicker. Tap-tap-tap. Almost like a song, building itself into a nervous crescendo. Waiting for-

“Can we just talk about something?” Bojan said, turning his head to look at him nervously.

Kris briefly glanced at their friends. Jure was in the middle seat between Jan and Nace. Jan, who was dozing off on Jure's shoulder, one of Jure's hands still tangled in his long, dark hair.

He made a mental note to ask Jure about Jan's sleeping lately when he got the chance.

Jure was awake, but he seemed to be nodding off as well, his eyes only half opened. The only real movement was that of his thumb moving over Nace's knuckles where they held hands.

Nace was the only one truly awake, wearing headphones and staring out of the window. 

Kris noticed how their dynamics slowly changed, slotting themselves into a new, still unfamiliar formation. He didn't pry, letting things play out first.

He knew first hand how delicate relationships could be within the band.

He turned back to Bojan.

“Let's just talk quietly. Jure and Jan are asleep,” he whispered.

Bojan quickly glanced at them too before nodding. He didn't say anything else though, letting the silence stretch. Kris bit his lip.

“You don't have to be nervous, y'know? About seeing Jere again. I am sure he is as excited as you are.”

Bojan went awfully still. His eyes zeroed in on Kris’ face, as if searching for something.

“What do you mean?”

Kris rolled his eyes.

“I'm not stupid, y'know? I know what you are like when you-” he paused, swallowing the words in love back, “like someone.”

Bojan was quiet for a moment. When he answered, his voice was quiet, but strangely neutral.

“Do you?”

Kris tried not to flinch back. His gaze jumped across the plane, anywhere but at Bojan.

“I think it'd be more odd if I didn't.”

Bojan hummed thoughtfully.

“I am not sure that you do.”

Kris’ gaze snapped to Bojan's again. His heart beat faster. Did he mean it in a way that Kris didn't know because if he did, he'd know Bojan liked him still? Or did he mean he didn't know because Bojan never truly liked him the way he liked Jere? 

“What do you mean?”

“Jere and I aren't…like that. We are just friends.”

Pads of Kris’ fingers rubbed against the seat, while he tried to process it. Was there a deeper meaning to this? Bojan said it so strangely.

“If…if you are asking my permission, you know you have it. I want you to be happy. If you like him, you should do something about it.”

Bojan simply stared at him for a moment longer before taking in a deep breath.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then.”

They both fell silent once again and Kris started to feel the crushing weight of what he had just done. It was like he cut the last tether that held Bojan back from pursuing Jere.

He hoped Bojan felt more free than he did.

“I think I'll listen to music for a bit,” Bojan said after a brief pause.

Kris simply nodded, reaching for his own headphones. He turned on the music as loud as he could stand, hoping that it would drown out his thoughts about what would come next. 

This would be for the best. The sooner he accepted that, the better.

It didn't truly hit Kris, what he had done. Not until the gig, when Jere, no, Käärijä joined them on the stage. 

He was wasted, that was certain and he was all over Bojan. Kris almost missed a note, only year of experience keeping him playing when he saw Käärijä lick Bojan's torso.

Jealousy was a spool of red, surrounded by jagged, black lines. Each jagged end wrapping and piercing Kris’ heart. 

Bojan took a brief look at him and Kris tore his gaze away. He made sure not to meet his gaze for the rest of the concert, even if he smiled and made sure no one noticed anything was wrong.

As soon as the gig ended, Kris made sure to start drinking. He wanted to dull the pain, the awareness of what was happening between Bojan and Jere.

He thought he resigned himself to this, but as Jere excused himself to go to the bathroom and Bojan's longing gaze followed him, Kris felt as if it was carving him from inside out.

He watched himself get up as well, and it felt like watching someone else do it. Like he was putting a thick glass between his emotions and movements. Real world was just seen through colors and echoes. 

His own lines got blurry and unfocused.

He went after Jere to the bathroom and waited. He splashed some cold water on his face and over his wrists, trying to ground himself. He wanted to have a proper conversation. When Jere found him near the sink, he raised his eyebrows.

“You wait for toilet?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you. About Bojan.”

Jere inclined his head towards him, his blue eyes piercing through him. Kris took a deep breath.

“Don't hurt him, alright? I know you joke around a lot with everyone, but I can see he cares for you. Don't fuck it up. Not like I did.”

Jere blinked up at him, and Kris internally cringed, realizing his slip up. 

“Just-if you are serious about him, tell him that. If you are not, then don't give him promises you can't keep. Got it?”

Jere nodded slowly, his eyes seemingly far away all of a sudden.

“Got it. Thank you…Kris.”

Kris gave him a wry smile. At least he finally remembered his name. He'd take what he could get.

“Anytime.”

Then he watched as Jere passed him by and went back to the bar. To Bojan. He watched as Jere casually slid his manicured hand over Bojan's cheek.

Even from this far away, Kris could practically feel the heat of Bojan's blush, as if his own palm had it etched into the skin. If he closed his eyes, he could see the beautiful color red that painted them. 

His hand would never look like that. Jere was small, almost delicate in comparison but with an edge that would keep Bojan on his toes.

Kris was all sharp words and soft touches. For someone who wrote songs, it always seemed his tongue could never quite curl around the right words perfectly. Not the way Käärijä could, leaving Bojan hanging on to every word.

He knew it was for the better, but why did it have to hurt this much?

Kris returned to the bar, and downed another shot. He could feel Jan's heavy gaze on him, almost as if he was asking him, “ What the hell are you doing?”

Kris turned to raise an eyebrow at him, which was likely when he missed the cue Bojan and Jere shared. Jere disappeared and Bojan cleared his throat.

“Sorry guys, I will crash at Jere's place tonight. I'll see you in the morning.”

He met Kris’ eyes and in that moment, Kris wished to take it all back. To beg him to stay and never leave with anyone else again.

The moment passed between one breath and the other. Everyone was saying their goodbyes. Kris mumbled his through cold lips. Then Bojan was gone.

Half an hour later, Nace managed to drag him to a room they shared. Kris barely changed his clothes into something more comfortable before collapsing in bed. He knew he'd regret drinking this much in the morning, but for now he didn't care.

The room spun around him, even when he closed his eyes, but his feelings seemed far away and for that moment, that was all that mattered as he drifted off to sleep.

Kris wakes up surprisingly early, half an hour before their alarm goes off. The sun was just rising on the horizon, painting everything in a soft, orange glow. 

His head hurt, and his mouth felt dry, but it wasn't as bad as he feared. The additional time he had on his hand certainly helped him pull himself together. 

Drinking a lot of water, brushing his teeth, taking a hot shower. Washing his hair for longer than he usually allowed himself when they were on tour felt amazing. 

It was almost enough for him to forget about yesterday evening. Up until he checked his phone and saw he had a few messages from Bojan.

He clicked on it, trying to disregard the slight tremor in his hands.

Bojan: Hey, I don't know what you told Jere yesterday but thank you. Whatever it was, helped us both get our shit together

Then another one right after read:

Bojan: So I guess we are together now hahah. I owe you one

Kris slammed the phone down on the nightstand and flinched at the crack sound it made. Fuck you, Bojan, he thought helplessly, I didn't have to know that.

His mother always used to say that his overthinking would eventually lead him right to places he wished to avoid with thinking things through. Perhaps there was more wisdom in it than he originally thought.

This was for the better, he reminded himself. The pain would pass and then he would be glad he was a good friend and pushed Bojan towards someone who could make him happy.

All Kris could hope for was that someday, he might find someone who made him happy as well. Until then, he'd just watch the colors others painted.